


B.S.T.P.H.T.

by dornfelder



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: First Time, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Magic!Stiles, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pre Season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-01-13 08:12:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1218994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dornfelder/pseuds/dornfelder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Derek has the presence of mind to object, Stiles pushes the paper in his hands and makes for his jeep. “Just read it, okay?” is the last thing he says before slamming the door shut. </p><p>He starts the engine, and drives away in record time with gravel scrunching under his tires while Derek stands there dumfounded. He accelerates unusually fast, and the jeep’s back lights disappear into the night. </p><p>What. The. Fuck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Français available: [B.S.T.P.H.T. (P.S.P.P.T.H.)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3614046) by [phoenix8351](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenix8351/pseuds/phoenix8351)
  * Translation into Русский available: [П.П.К.С.С. — Превосходный План Как Спасти Стаю](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4641024) by [JuliaJulia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuliaJulia/pseuds/JuliaJulia), [tatianatiana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatianatiana/pseuds/tatianatiana)



> I started writing this before season 3a started, when I was still hopeful and excited about the upcoming season, when Erica and Boyd were still alive and things just looked better all around. Back when I thought the concept of an alpha pack could make some kind of sense. (And since I still think the idea is pretty good, and I want to spend my time with doing something creative rather than being depressed and angry about all the Bad Things that are happening in fandom right now, I’ve decided to post this as a WIP, hoping I’ll finish this somewhere along the way. So please, if it turns out you like it, keep encouraging me to WRITE.)

Stiles hits the print button. He saves the file on his USB drive and deletes it from his hard drive. He isn’t sure where to hide the stick. Compared to what’s on it, his hidden porn collection - including the file labeled “furry fandom” - counts as only mildly embarrassing.

The first page comes out of the printer. Stiles picks it up to scan over it and absent-mindedly reaches for a blue pen.

He ends up hiding the USB drive in the attic, tied with duct tape to the roof beam; the data is too incriminating to store anywhere else.

Stiles shoves the printout in the pocket of his red hoodie. Grabbing his car keys and his phone, he leaves the room, heading for his jeep. 

Fuck, Derek is going to kill him. Provided Stiles does not end up running his jeep into a tree or a concrete wall on the way.

~~~~~

The first thing Derek notices is the piece of junk Stiles calls his jeep standing in the driveway. Hard not to, since it is parked right in front of the door. 

Derek groans, considers driving by. He’s not in the mood for this. 

Stiles is leaning against the hood, fiddling with his keys. Even in the short time it takes to make the turn from the main street into the driveway, Derek can tell Stiles is nervous. Did something happen? The alphas were out in the woods last night, hunting in the preserve. As far as Derek knows, that’s the only thing they’ve done for the last week. 

And he can’t stop them. 

As the Camaro comes to a halt next to the jeep, Stiles looks up, caught like a deer in headlight. He really doesn’t look good, with dark circles under his eyes, his broad shoulders hunched. Defensive.

The impression grows stronger as Derek gets out of the car and takes a deep breath. Stiles’ scent confirms it – he’s stressed-out, hyper-vigilant and fidgety, with the sour smell of fear-induced sweat underneath his shirts. 

“Hey,” he says, looking up and meeting Derek’s gaze for a brief moment before he turns his head to the side. His shuffles his feet. The gravel grates under his worn-out sneakers. “Long time no see.”

“What do you want, Stiles?” Derek’s not sure he really wants to know.

At that, the anxiousness he senses grows, although Stiles is trying to hide it. Stiles runs a hand through his hair – no longer the buzz cut, but a mess of short spikes and curls – and takes a deep breath. “So – listen...”

Derek knows he won’t like whatever will come out of Stiles’ mouth next. “What.”

Stiles stares at him, opens his mouth to wet his lips, and says, “Yeah, so...” 

Stops again. 

Another deep inhale as he straightens his stance, working up to the courage to say whatever he has come for. But instead of saying something, he reaches inside his pocket and pulls out a couple of loose, folded sheets to push them at Derek. “Here.”

Derek stares at him, lifts an eyebrow. 

Stiles licks his lips again, and from the way he looks, he’s close to hyperventilating. “Okay. So, listen, I gotta go.”

Before Derek has the presence of mind to object, Stiles pushes the paper in his hands and makes for his jeep. “Just read it, okay?” is the last thing he says before slamming the door shut. 

He starts the engine, and drives away in record time with gravel scrunching under his tires while Derek stands there dumfounded. He accelerates unusually fast, and the jeep’s back lights disappear into the night. 

What. The. Fuck. 

Derek stares at the papers in his hands. Printout, a couple of pages, and someone – Stiles, his brain supplies helpfully – made copious footnotes and annotations with a blue fineliner pen.

As Derek unfolds them, a short note falls out. Derek catches it before it can tumble to the ground. 

_Derek,_ it reads. And it goes downhill from there.


	2. The Outline

[The Outline](http://drive.google.com/file/d/0B81cdJXtjHsNM2xBU1dnVlE5WFk/edit?usp=sharing/) (what it looks like for Derek) 

_ Derek,  _

_ first of all, please BURN this once you’re done. Do not let Creepy!Peter see this. Or one of your puppies. Betas. Whatever. You’ll know why once you’ve read it. Please. Really. I mean it.  _

_ Second, you have to believe me that this was not actually my idea. ~~It wasn’t.~~ Or I guess you could say it was, in a way, but if you want to blame someone for this, it’s Deaton. No, scratch that, blame the alphas.  _

_ Anyway. Just read this, all right? _

The pages come with numbers. The notes are copious, sometimes extending to the back of the sheet. It’s confusing, to say the least. 

** 1\. Facts About the Alpha Pack **

  * have come to Beacon Hills town to challenge new alpha Derek Hale for territory & leadership of pack * 
_* Seriously, why? I mean, what do they want in Beacon Hills? And your pack’s pretty much only Erica, Boyd and Isaac and Zombie!Peter, and let’s face it, Erica can be pretty terrifying but they’re not really a threat to anyone, and Isaac always looks like a kicked puppy. And Peter... actually, let’s not talk about Peter._
  * can and do kick our collective asses, including that of new alpha Derek Hale which was successfully proven by a) kidnapping and torturing Boyd and Erica for two weeks, b) leaving their sign all over the town. Even on my jeep. Even in Scott’s locker at school. _Creeps._ c) almost killing Scott and Isaac when they went to spy on them
  * are not impressed by our united front _maybe because new alpha Derek Hale and Scott McCall get in ~~cat dog~~ fights over the dumbest shit all the time_
  * are trying to play us off against each other and manipulate us, so we do their dirty work fighting each other, proven by a) Ethan and Aiden trying to tell me that it would be best if Scott challenged you and became the alpha, b) this Ennis guy trying to kill Allison and pretending he was you so Scott would blame you, for the same reason, c) stealing Boyd’s memories to make him go feral, so you would have no other choice but to kill him 
  * will only leave town if new alpha Derek Hales proves to them convincingly that he is powerful enough to unite his pack and protect them by a) making all omega wolves in his territory submit to him **, b) successfully eliminating the threat of the hunters by 1: killing them all or _No, not actually an option!_ 2: establishing a truce with them ***, c) successfully protecting his den against intruders _by preventing them from leaving their sign all over our stuff, see above_

_** Yes, I know that Scott refuses to acknowledge your authority and says he’s not a part of the pack. Yes, he’s aware of the fact that wolves are stronger in numbers and that being an omega sucks, yadda yadda yadda, because you’ve told him approximately ten times already... I’m working on it._

_*** Chris doesn’t know about the alphas yet, but Allison does and she’s willing to work with us, it’s just that she doesn’t trust you, like, at all, and I think you should actually talk to her at one point – but could you try to cut down on the whole, “I will rip your throat out with me teeth” crap._




** 2\. Plans How to Impress the Alpha Pack So That They Leave Town **

  * make Scott and Derek cooperate *
_* I know Scott is stubborn as hell, but so are you! I’ve known him for most of my life, so believe me if I say I know exactly what I’m talking about. Could you, maybe, stop bossing him around so much? He really hates that. I probably shouldn’t tell you that, but his father used to order him around all the time and never really talked to him, and Scott doesn’t do so well with people, especially guys, who keep telling him what to do._ _And it would be really helpful if you listened to him when he tries to keep you from killing someone, because, hey, guess what? NOT killing people is a good idea most of the time. You keep telling us there can’t be two alphas in a pack, but seeing as there’s a PACK OF ALPHAS around, that makes it a little hard to believe you. I get it that you have to be the one in command in front of them, but can’t you compromise somehow? In case you’re wondering, you’re not the only one who’s getting this speech. As I said, I’m working on Scott. And I’ve Allison on board now, so there’s a good change he might actually LISTEN._
  * use a Badass Spell to Protect Hale Territory (B.S.T.P.H.T.), see 3nd page for more information
  * make a truce with the Argents _I’m sorry, but that’s just something that needs to happen. It doesn’t have to be all bad, you know. Okay, I admit Chris is an asshole, and, yeah, Allison went nuts after her mom’s death, but who wouldn’t? ~~I know I did.~~ I know she tried to wipe out your pack or something, but to be fair, you actually DID bite her mother, even if it was to save Scott. But she didn’t know that, all right? She does now (because I made Scott tell her, so you owe me for that) and she’s starting to come around. They follow the codex again and an alliance would be a good idea. _



**3\. Reasons Why We Need B.S.T.P.H.T.**

  * we need to convince the alphas that our pack is stable (s. a.) and powerful enough to
  * protect its own territory by preventing them from entering our lair any time they want, which
  * is a problem because we don’t even have a lair but are basically scattered all over town and
  * even if we had, we still couldn’t beat them in an open fight *
_* Shut up, we already tried that and failed. You don’t want to hear this, but even if Scott joined your pack we still wouldn’t be strong enough to keep them out._
  * and werewolf/alpha etiquette says that as long as our pack isn’t stable, it’s their right to kill us all and/or claim our territory and install a new alpha, and that
  * would be really awful and is therefore not an option



**4\. Requirements of B.S.T.P.H.T.**

  * protect all our homes, the school, your old house, the train car depot, the animal clinic and your new apartment against supernatural, evil creatures _Also, if our cars could be included, that would be awesome_
  * so that only we can enter *
_* and those who are invited by a TUSTWORTHY MEMBER OF THE PACK(= not Peter!). But I mean, people like my father, or Scott’s mom or Boyd’s granny should be allowed to enter any of our refuges._
  * and they’re kept outside
  * and whenever someone supernatural/evil tries to enter, the spell alarms us and we can come to the rescue
  * and it also protects us from witches, burglars, car thieves and nosy neighbours _~~and possibly bunnies~~ Okay, maybe not a priority_
  * ~~and is invisible and sort of located in a parallel universe~~



**5\. General Guidelines on How To Cast Spells** _I don’t know how much you know about magic, so if this is an old hat for you, just skip this part._

  * according to Deaton, to create a spell you need a) intent. The intention to cast a spell; knowing what it should and shouldn’t do. Also the motivation. You have to really want it and make it happen *, b) willpower. Focus and mental strength, the caster’s ability to focus on the spell and to keep up the conviction it will work, not get distracted,** c) imagination. Intuitive knowledge of how magic works and what will make it stronger. The ability to create a spell that has meaning by combining your mythological lore with what you know from experience will work, d) some kind of conductor. Ingredients or artifacts that carry the magic along ***

_* Deaton calls it ‘being a spark’_

_** Deaton says that with more practice it becomes easier to keep up the conviction it will work, and the spells become more powerful_

_*** This is the actual crux of the matter. Because it depends on your own convictions and experience, but also on traditional beliefs whether something will work or not. What Deaton said was, ‘things have meaning because you believe in them. You believe in them because superstition tells you they’re real.’_

_If you invent a spell, you choose ingredients that will help you because they have power on their own. Mountain ash is said to protect you against supernatural creatures. If you use it to create a circle of protection, it will work, because of your belief that it will. But that belief is solely based on superstition and traditional lore. Mountain ash itself probably doesn’t have any power at all. Now if you, as a werewolf, told yourself that a circle of mountain ash would not work on you back because you know on a conscious level that it doesn’t do anything, you would still not be able to break it. Because belief is stronger than rationality._

_Hunters use wolfsbane bullets to kill werwolves because they know from experience it will work. And werewolves know it has the power to hurt them. If, theoretically, a werwolf who doesn’t about it was hit by a wolfsbane bullet, it would still work on him as long as the hunter knew what he was doing. If I exchanged my father’s ammunition for wolfsbane bullets (not that I would) and he’d shoot one of our pack, it would still work because they all know it can hurt them. Even if they didn’t recognize the bullet for what it was. How bizarre is that?_

_But if somewhere on the world someone accidentally shot a werewolf who didn’t know the lore with a wolfsbane bullet, it’s possible that it wouldn’t do anything._

_If someone you trusted gave you a fake magical amulet and told you it had the power to annihilate wolfbane, it would actually work, because your belief would make it happen. Because you are the spark._

_If Deaton gave me a bag of black powder, telling me it was mountain ash, even if it wasn’t, I’d be able to cast the circle and it would hold – until the moment he told me what he did. On the other hand, if I saw him mix it with dust before he gave it to me, it probably wouldn’t work because I’d start to doubt its potency._

_A catholic priest could use a rosary the same way Deaton uses mountain ash if his belief was strong enough. And silver would work against a werewolf who hasn’t yet heard that it can’t. Maybe Scott could have been cured by killing Peter if he had really wanted it to work._

_~~The whole thing is giving me a headache. I mean, just try to imagine that werwolves are just a fairytale come true? Maybe they were, once, and then the first human was bitten by a wolf and became a werewolf because his father’s bedtime stories really sucked. No offense, man.~~_

  * also according to Deaton, once you have the basics down, it’s all about how powerful you need the spell to be. A spell usually works as long as the caster focuses and stays close by. As soon as he stops to concentrate or leaves, the magic starts to fade. In any case, the magic lasts for a few hours at the most. If you need it to last longer, you can either improve the spell by a) adding ingredients to make the magic more powerful or for practical reasons, for example combine mountain ash with purified water, because they’d amplify each other, and if you have some kind of mud instead of powder, it can’t be blown away as easily _Blood would also work, but that’s kind of gross,_ b) changing the nature of the spell. If you cast it as a ritual, the magic will be permanent. A ritual is different from a normal spell because 1: it takes time to cast, a ceremony of sorts – candles, incantations, meaningful declarations, the whole shebang, 2: it requires a sacrifice – the caster has to sacrifice something that is important to him _Kind of like selling your soul, or stabbing your cat with a knife on an altar – we’re talking serious business here._



**6\. How the General Guidelines Relate to B.S.T.P.H.T.**

  * since we can’t simply spread mountain ash all around our respective houses every day for practical reasons, we need the magic to be permanent, which
  * requires a ritual where
  * we take a part from everyone’s house – like a piece of furniture, grandma’s clock or a floorboard or a chip of wood from the staircase – and personal assets for everyone we want to include, like jewelry or locks of hair or something, in the protection spell, and flowers for protection and family and all other kinds of meaningful stuff _Turns out the language of flowers is there for a reason, who would’ve thought?_
  * and put them all in a circle of mountain ash and hold a ceremony and
  * make the sacrifice as explained below and then
  * the alphas can go away and fuck themselves because they can’t get any closer to our front doors than ten feet



**7\. General Rules for a Sacrifice**

  * needs to be meaningful in the context of society
  * needs to be permanent, so that the magic can be, too
  * doesn’t have to be unpleasant or painful _Keep that in mind, ok?_
  * life is more powerful than death, love is more powerful than hate, and so on
  * if a sacrifice is forced that means it’s dark magic (violent in nature)
  * the person who offers the sacrifice has to be aware of what they are doing



**8\. Actual Plan How to Cast the B.S.T.P.H.T.**

  * location: your apartment
  * participants: you and me. You, because you’re the alpha, and I, because I will cast the spell for different reasons. First, because I’m part of the pack, second, I’ve actually done this before. Third, see below
  * supplies: just tell your puppies to bring things that belong to their houses and a couple of things each that mean something to them, and whoever they want to protect. I’ll take care of Scott’s things and mine and bring everything else we need
  * time: I guess in the evening would be good. Might take a while, so you better tell your betas and Zombie!Peter not to come by *
_*or maybe don’t say anything at all. They might get curious and try to listen in. And you don’t want that. Just be your usual charming self and cancel all pack meetings for the evening. ~~Tues Wednesday~~ Thursday would be fine._
  * sacrifice: virginity. More precisely, mine. The concept isn’t as important as it was, I don’t know, a hundred years ago, but virginity still makes for a pretty powerful sacrifice, so.



_ _

_ Derek, in case you’re still reading and not on your way to rip my throat out, take a moment to think about it. _

_ You probably don’t want to do this. Yeah, I don’t, either. But that’s the point. Because that’s what a sacrifice means.  _

_ Some other things would work too. Memories are pretty powerful. Especially, as Deaton said, memories of our loved ones. I thought of it, but I’d rather die than sacrifice that, and I’d take an educated guess and say that the same goes for you, am I right? _

_ Life. Yeah. As much as I’d like to get rid of Peter, it’s all about protection, and the ritual would only work if he did it willingly. So if you could convince him to off himself, I’d be totally on board with that, but the sacrifice needs to be permanent – as in, no resurrection after - and I doubt he’d agree.  _

_The thing is, it would work. I don’t know about you – you’re probably straight – but the gay sex wouldn’t be a problem for me, because I’m actually – well, I guess you could say bi-curious. And you’re admittedly hot, and if you could for once decide to not be a dick (heh!) and give it a try, I’d be okay with that._

_ I mean, being a virgin is not really something to be proud of. I guess I shouldn’t complain because it means I can actually sacrifice something to make the spell happen. Anyway. Getting rid of the v-thing before I die a horribly painful and messy death at the hands of Deucalion Douchebag and his Fatal Four sounds like a good idea. And it’s not like people are standing in a line and offering to deflower me, so...  _

_ If you’d prefer to do it with someone else, that’s fine with me, but I’m pretty sure all the girls in the pack are already thoroughly de-virginized, so you would have to involve someone else. But they’d have to do it inside the circle while I’m there. With your looks you can probably get laid whenever you want, and she wouldn’t even ask any questions. But that’s a pretty shitty thing to do to a girl if you’re her first. Not that I think you would do that, I mean. _

_ So, I’m offering. And you wouldn’t have to worry about complications either, like pregnancy or anything, really. Because we shouldn’t use protection (magic doesn’t work well with science and also semen is a powerful conductor). And it has to be anal sex, so we can be sure it counts. Yes, I know the whole, “only penetrative sex is real sex” is complete heteronormative bullshit, but that’s how it works in our society. Traditional beliefs, remember? To be sure you’d have to fuck me. I don’t know, even if you’re straight, that might work for you? I mean, it’s not as if you need to get me off or something. _

_ Okay, that’s basically all I wanted to say. _

_ Think about it, okay? But don’t tell any of the others. I can totally live without any of them knowing about this, ever. _

_ Let me know if you want to give it a try. You know where to find me. _

_ I guess I’ll see you around _

_ Stiles _


	3. I

No way. No fucking way.

Derek paces the room, from one side to the other. He’s still holding the crumpled pages, littered with claw marks, in his hand.

Stiles is sixteen. No way is Derek going to rape a sixteen year-old. Protection spell or not. 

Derek can hear Stiles’ voice in his head. _It’s not rape if I’m willing._ Which is exactly the dumb kind of thing he would say. Where did Stiles even get the idea? A sacrifice of virginity, of all things. It’s not the dark ages, where villages tried to protect themselves from rogue werwolves by offering them their virgin daughters. Which never actually happened... much. 

That’s not even the point. The point is... 

Stiles is sixteen. 

Why is he even still a virgin? Kids his age have sex all the time. Stiles isn’t actually ugly or appalling, just... annoying. He’s also not stupid and decidedly resourceful. If he decided to pursue the whole thing, Derek bets he’d be able to get laid just like anyone else. But of course Stiles is still hung up on Lydia Martin. 

What a convenient excuse, a reason to stay at home and pine and ignore anyone else who might be even remotely interested. Sure, she’s beautiful and smart, but she’s not the only one. Frankly, Derek can’t see the appeal of a person like Lydia who covers her real personality up with a layer of make-up thick enough to wear it like an armor. Like a kind of camouflage, meant to hide, not to underline. Why can’t Stiles be drawn to someone like Erica, who is just as pretty, and wouldn’t keep him at arm’s length? And bi-curious, his ass. If Stiles thinks he might be attracted to guys, nothing would be easier than a visit to the local gay bar to just figure it out. Maybe with that gay friend of his, what’s the kid’s name, Danny? But no, wait, it’s Stiles. Of course he’d offer to have anal sex in a weird magical ritual instead. With a guy he loathes. Who happens to be twenty-four. 

Derek’s twenty-four, but that isn’t the point. The point is...

Stiles is sixteen. 

The age of consent is eighteen in California, and statutory rape is a crime. For heaven’s sake, Stiles is the sheriff’s son. Is he aiming for Derek to get arrested if the truth comes out? 

Which is also not the point. The point is... 

Stiles is sixteen.

Derek remembers being sixteen. Sixteen and horny all the time, his skin feeling too tight, with the wolf close to the surface and restless. High school was hell. Derek learned the hard way – and isn’t that a really _awful_ pun – that not only boys thought of sex all the time. Girls did too. Derek could smell it on them. 

Sixteen, and socially awkward, feeling like he didn’t belong. Convinced that anyone else had sex all the time, although he could sense the lies, the exaggerations that some of his class mates came up with, he still felt like being the only one who did not get laid on a regular basis.

His parents had warned him off girls. Said that as long as he didn’t have full control of his urges, she would be in danger. Werewolves and puberty didn’t mesh well, all the testosterone and the werewolf instincts. 

His parents’ words didn’t mean much, not when a hot twenty-something chick picked him up at the side of the road after one of his long, lonely runs in the wood, and offered him a ride. Derek met Kate when he was sixteen, and she certainly didn’t care about petty Californian laws or propriety.

But that’s not the point. 

Yet, it is – in a way. 

Stiles is sixteen. 

Having sex for the first time isn’t something that should be taken from you. It’s not something to offer in a bargain, not something you should have to do as a means of protecting your family and your friends. 

Protecting the pack is Derek’s responsibility. He can’t accept what Stiles is offering because he needs to do it by himself. Needs to be strong enough. Cunning enough. That he has no idea how he could beat the alpha pack, how to meet the challenge, isn’t something Stiles should be bothering about. 

Stiles is sixteen. 

It shouldn’t be because Derek is a shitty pack leader, a shitty alpha. 

Derek doesn’t burn the papers. He doesn’t like setting things afire. He throws them into the trash, crumpled into a ball. 

~~~~~

The mandatory Pack meeting in the evening takes place at Derek’s loft, as usual. They practice in he train car depot – the woods are no longer safe – but they meet at Derek’s for tactical discussions. 

Boyd and Erica are occupying the couch, cuddling. They got close during their imprisonment, Derek doesn’t know just _how_ close, but he feels the bond between them, the sense of pack. It surrounds them and, weirdly, stretches out to him. It’s because they both chose him, though he has no idea why. Deucalion gave them a choice – leave Beacon Hills, go to live with another pack, or stick with Derek. They both came back, and while he doesn’t delude himself into thinking that they actually did it because of _him_ , he’s still grateful for it. 

And yet he almost wishes they hadn’t. He’s not worth their trust, being unable to stop the alpha pack. He might take on one, even Deucalion, in a fight, but not all at once. And his betas, while stronger and more loyal than he thought they would be, won’t be able to stand against four alphas. If Jackson was still in Beacon Hills, and if Scott was a part of the pack, maybe then... 

Scott. Who not only refuses to accept Derek as his alpha, but fails to acknowledge the problem altogether. When Derek first told him about the alphas, Scott adamantly argued that their presence wasn’t _his_ problem, he’d talk to them, they’d understand. 

It doesn’t work that way in werewolf society, though. 

That Scott still refuses to submit affects them all. Isaac most. Because he wants to be friends with Scott just as much as he wants to be part of Derek’s pack. He wants to be normal, have the normal life, the normal family. Boyd and Erica embraced their wolf nature, which makes it harder to control himself at the full moon. Isaac took the bite to become stronger, to protect himself, but he still wants to be normal. Wants to blend in. While he can control the shift more easily, it makes him less of a werewolf than he could be if he fully accepted it. 

Isaac is leaning against the spiral staircase, arms crossed at his chest, sulking. Derek doesn’t like to think of him as the pack’s weak link, but he is, so much that he regrets offering him the bite in the first place. Isaac succumbed to Ethan’s charms easily, gave away the information that the alphas couldn’t get from Boyd and Erica under torture. Erica and Boyd refused to break, but Deucalion got what he wanted from Isaac. Not from any of the humans who knew about them. Not from Lydia Martin, who turned the tables on Aiden easily and pretty much made him her pet. Not from Stiles, who Ethan had tried to approach the same way as Isaac – which, by the way, might explain Stiles’ doubts about his sexual orientation. No, it was Isaac, attention-starved and confused, who confided in Ethan.

Derek can’t blame him. He’s a shitty alpha; if he had been able to give Isaac more – more affection, more, attention, more stability – Isaac would not have been straying from him, grateful for anyone who offered him a shred of sympathy. In their little pack, Isaac is the odd one out, after Boyd and Erica have gotten so close; he’s still struggling to find his place. Derek didn’t pay enough attention to him, too focused on Scott and his betrayal, too focused on Jackson, and then on looking for Boyd and Erica and re-forging the ties with them as they returned. Too focused on watching Peter sneak around and talk to Deucalion. 

Which didn’t turn out well, since the alphas know exactly what Peter did during his brief performance as an alpha. If Derek fails to pass the test, Peter is as good as dead, Deucalion made that unequivocally clear. 

The situation, all in all, is pretty dire. Time is running out. It’s been fairly quiet these last few days, but that just means that Deucalion is biding his time, plans something big. After returning Boyd and Erica, he gave Derek two full moons to get his things in order. They have three weeks left, and so far they have failed every single test. Whatever happens next, it won’t be pretty. Not after they almost killed Allison – would have, if Scott hadn’t found her in time. 

“All right,” Derek says. “Where is Scott?”

Isaac shrugs. “He said he needed to help Deaton perform some kind of surgery tonight.”

Derek presses his lips together.

“We don’t need him,” Erica says. “We’re better at fighting than him, he’s just baggage.” 

Which isn’t true, at least not completely. With Scott in his pack, Isaac would be able to settle in. Five betas, that’s a good number, makes for stable and balanced packs. And with Scott come the resourceful humans. Stiles and Lydia. The Argents, possibly. 

Is what Stiles wrote in his outline true? Did he tell Allison what really happened during the rave? Then maybe there’s a chance for Derek to renew the pact his mother had with the Argents before Gerard took over. 

“I had an idea today,” Erica says. “What if we – what if we tried to get a hold of Deucalion, lured him into a trap? Wouldn’t that be enough as a sign of strength?”

Peter, leaning against the kitchen door, rolls his eyes, while Boyd looks at Derek questioningly. Isaac’s face doesn’t give anything away. 

“It depends,” Derek says. “If we could somehow make sure that the others can’t free him.”

“We could kill him,” Peter says. “Take his power. With two alphas in town -”

Derek growls at him.

Peter lifts his hands in a mock-placating gesture. “Or you could take it. It would make you stronger.”

“But how do we get a hold of him?” Boyd says, and that’s a good question.

They argue, back and forth, but there’s no breakthrough, no nothing. The alpha pack is resourceful, and they work as a unit. Deucalion and Kali are veterans. Both were already in command the last time the alpha pack came to Beacon Hills. Derek remembers it, faintly, how his mother welcomed them. Deucalion treated her with something akin to awe. The Hales were one of California’s most influential packs at that time. It’s probably one of the reasons Deucalion didn’t immediately kill Peter, and gave Derek more time than expected. But once the ultimatum runs out – there’s not going to be any kind of mercy. And Derek gets it. It’s too dangerous, their pack too volatile with all these teenagers, newly bitten wolves, and no real emissary. 

Peter disappears into the kitchen at some point while Isaac keeps sulking on the stairs. Erica and Boyd start groping each other, less subtle than they think they are. Scott hasn’t shown up and for once, Derek doesn’t mind all that much. It means he doesn’t have to deal with Stiles just yet. Though he needs to tell him at some point that it’s not going to happen.

When Derek calls it a night, the teenagers leave within minutes. While their steps fade away on the stairs, Peter emerges from the kitchen, holding something in his hands. 

“So that is what smelled so strongly of the Stilinski boy,” he says. 

_Crap._

“Put that down,” Derek says. Why didn’t he take out the trash out right away?

“Sacrifice doesn’t equal rape, you know,” Peter says. “The boy is smart. He knows what he is doing.” He holds up the outline, the crumpled paper straightened out. 

“I don’t care,” Derek grits out. “It’s not going to happen.” 

“On the contrary, I am quite sure it will,” Peters says. “Seeing as your options are limited here. You’re goint to lose against Deucalion, and then? They’ll likely let the humans live, maybe even your betas. You and I? Dead wolves.”

“I won’t let them win.” Derek can’t think of anything else but denying everything Peter launches at him. As far as tactics goes, it’s not the most brilliant one.

“Evidence suggests otherwise,” Peter replies and puts the sheets down on the kitchen counter. “Derek, as much as it pains me to say, but this is your best chance.”

“No.”

“Stiles knows what he’s doing. Deaton taught him well. With the ingredients and the way he has it all planned out, the ritual will work. What are you afraid of?”

“I am not afraid of him.”

“Really? Because it looks the opposite. It is perfectly justified to be wary. The boy is underage, and you made your own experiences when you were his age, didn’t you, nephew.” 

“I was stupid at sixteen,” Derek says with a dry throat. “And he is, too.”

“Everyone is stupid at sixteen,” Peter says. “It’s his choice, isn’t it? I could imagine worse ways to lose one's virginity. How about you?”

As much as he wants to, there’s nothing Derek can say against that. 

Peter raises his eyebrows. “Or keep being a martyr and get us all killed. But I won’t stand by and see it happen.”

He traces Stiles’ handwriting on one of the pages. “Maybe I’ll...”

Derek should not raise to the bait. He shouldn’t. “Do what?”

“The spell might work with someone else than an alpha. Maybe I’ll drop by and offer my assistance.”

Derek feels rage rise inside him, a red haze tainting his sight. He closes his eyes, breathes deeply. His hands – not claws, _not claws_ – clench into fists. He’s not going to lose control over _this._ “If you lay one finger on him, I will rip you to shreds,” he snarls. “There won’t be enough left of you to bury you.”

Peter laughs. It is an ugly sound. “Shouldn’t that be Stiles’ choice? I bet that as the time passes – when he gets more desperate - now, now, calm down. That’s a good boy.” 

Derek pulls his claws out of the wooden kitchen counter. 

“By the way, Derek?" Peter asks with a pleasant smile. "If I had really intended to, I wouldn’t have told you. But somehow I think that you will come around, sooner or later.”

“I’m not into...”

“Please,” Peter says. “Have you forgotten who caught you and the Wilkins boy in the wood shed in sixth grade?” 

“I am not into _little boys_ ,” Derek says. 

Peter smirks. “But Stiles looks all grown up and pretty now. And if it’s his _size_ that matters to you -” 

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence. Derek has him by his throat, against the wall, in the blink of an eyes, and this time he doesn’t bother to control his shift. He growls at Peter, softly, but lets a hint of his alpha powers blend in. Peter swallows, bares his throat, reluctantly and with a tiny snarl. But he does submit, and Derek lets him go. “You stay away from him, and keep your mouth shut.”

“As you wish,” Peter says. 

“Get out,” Derek says and watches as Peter straightens his suede jacket, the one that makes him look like a douche, and walks out of the door. 

But then, because it’s Peter, and he has to have the last word, he turns on the doorstep. “Don’t you find it rather _ironic_ that the sixteen year old human boy has enough courage to approach the big bad wolf, and you’re the predator become prey, scared shitless by a defenseless teenager?”


	4. II

It’s past midnight as Derek wakes. With his hair standing on end he doesn’t need someone to tell him that there’s an intruder in the loft; his senses picked up on it in his sleep. 

Someone is moving around very quietly, heartbeat fast but steady. 

The moment Derek’s own heartbeat accelerates, he knows the intruder hears it too, from the indrawn breath, the almost inaudible growl. 

Derek throws the blanket off and jumps to land on his feet, calling on the wolf. He bares his teeth, lets his eyes flash red as a sign of warning. It’s not one of the alphas, or he would have woken sooner. He doesn’t waste his time asking, takes a deep breath instead, and now that he’s awake, the smell registers on a conscious level. 

“Scott,” he growls.

In a flash of red glowing eyes, claws and teeth, Scott tackles him, the force of the impact knocking them over. They crash to the floor, Scott on top of him, Derek trying to catch his breath. What’s happening here? Scott shouldn’t be this strong. Did he kill one of the alphas, or did he join them? 

“What are you doing?” Derek forces out, trying to get a hold of Scott who slashes at him with his claws, leaving deep gashes on Derek’s chest. 

Scott snarls, no recognition in his eyes, and attacks him in blind rage, just as Boyd did when he had been feral, but with an alpha’s strength. Fuck, what did they do to him? As they roll over the floor, Derek’s tries to gain the upper hand, subdue Scott somehow, but Scott’s too strong for him, and when Derek roars to force him into submission, all he gets in response is another furious snarl. Scott’s claws slicing open his throat, missing the jugular by mere inches. 

“No,” Derek growls out, and starts fighting back in earnest, not to defend, but to disable. 

It’s exactly what the alphas want, he realizes. His claws tear through skin and tissue, slicing a deep hole into Scott’s side. _They want this to happen._ Scott howls in pain, sinking his teeth into Derek’s wrists. Bones splinter as he bites down hard, trying to _maim._ Derek howls with pain, headbutts Scott and knees him in the balls. Scott opens his mouth in low whine, and Derek uses the opportunity to wrench his wrist out of Scott’s jaw. The short reprieve allows him to stumble to his feet. _No._ He’s not going to kill Scott over this. 

The bones in his wrist try to rearrange themselves. Blood is dripping to the floor, and the pain is searing, crippling. Derek bites his tongues. 

The deep wounds on his chest are already closing. Scott’s aren’t; his left side is shredded, and he’s curled up on the floor and trying to recover from the damage Derek did to his private parts. Derek exhales in the grip of sudden, cold fear. If Scott has the strength of an alpha but doesn’t heal like one...

Scott gets his feet under him, just to lunge at him again. Derek manages to dodge, just barely, and Scott crashes into the wall behind him, pieces of grout crumbling and falling to the floor. Scott pushes himself off the wall, covering the distance in one long, effortless leap, and lands a blow to Derek’s gut that makes him grunt and double over as claws rip through his abdomen. Derek roars and Scott, taking it as a sign of his impending victory, raises his hand for a final strike. 

Just in time, Derek manages to pull himself together, blocks the attack and catches Scott’s wrist in his right hand. He gets a grip on his shoulder with the left, claws digging into flesh, and it doesn’t take more than one controlled tug, combined with the power of Scott’s blow, to dislocate his shoulder. Scott yells in agony, and Derek lets go of him and darts back, chest heaving, fury and blood loss impairing his vision. He’s not going to kill Scott. He’s not. 

But Scott doesn’t stop and throws himself at Derek again, head-first. One shoulder dislocated, bleeding from his other side, he keeps going, ineffective, left-handed claw swipes and vicious bites. Derek wrestles him on his stomach, somehow, the details blurry are but a lifetime of combat training kicks in to compensate for the lack of rational thought. He straddles Scott’s back, pinning him to the ground with his weight. 

He has to incapacitate Scott without killing him, but he has no idea how. Scott has an alpha’s strength, but not the spark that makes him heal like one. Hitting him over the head might knock him out or kill him, and Derek has no means to say which one’s more likely. 

The door to the loft flies open with a bang. Derek freezes, eyes darting to the door. If the alphas sent Scott as a vanguard...

It’s Stiles, supporting himself with one hand at the door frame, out of breath. “Don’t kill him,” he gasps, eyes wide with terror. “Derek, don’t kill him!”

Scott struggles against Derek’s hold and almost succeeds in throwing him off. As he snaps at Derek, his teeth miss Derek’s arm by inches, and Derek grips the back of his neck. Brutal strengths helps him force Scott’s head down, Scott’s face grinding against the floor. Scott snarls and spits, his legs kicking out ineffectively as he tries to find a positions that allows him to gain enough leverage to dislodge Derek.

For a second, a different image flashes through Derek’s mind, and it’s him in Scott’s hold, paralyzed and powerless, terrified, and it’s Scott using his body like a tool, a commodity for the benefit of Gerard Argent. Derek’s grip tightens, to the point where Scott coughs and thrashes under him. 

“Don’t kill him!” Stiles repeats, a plea: his voice pitched high and panic-stricken. 

Derek closes his eyes for a second, shaking his head. It takes a conscious effort to ease the pressure of his fingers around Scott’s neck. 

“I won’t,” he grits out, struggling to hold Scott down without causing further damage. “Get something to tie him up, _now_!” 

“Deaton gave me something,” Stiles says, the words spilling out of his mouth as if he’s afraid Derek won’t listen, his hand disappearing in his pocket to pull out something, a small plastic jar. He approaches them cautiously, but quickly, meeting Derek’s gaze and holding it. “Wolfsbane. It’ll knock him out. Break the spell, hopefully.”

“What if it doesn’t?” 

“Deaton said it would work. Can you get out of the way somehow?”

“If I let him up, he might go after _you_.” 

As if to confirm his words, Scott growls and bares his teeth just as Stiles takes another step toward them. 

Stiles unscrews the jar, his gloved hands shaking slightly as he pours the content into his palm. “I just need to get a good angle, okay? Right. On three, get as far away from him as you can, all right? Derek. Come one. Please.” 

Derek is not going to question him now. “Don’t miss,” he growls. 

“Believe me, I’ll be trying really, really hard not to,” Stiles says, voice wavering on the last few syllables. With his face tense and drawn he looks a lot older than sixteen, focused and scared and determined. “One.”

Derek shifts his weight, prepares to let go off Scott, calculating. In case Stiles misses, he’ll have to move fast.

“Two,” Stiles says. His eyes meet Derek’s again in a silent question.

Derek nods, ignoring Scott’s snarling and sputtering, and focusing on Stiles’ voice.

“ _Three._ ”

Derek lets go and leaps, lands right behind Stiles. Scott immediately tries to get up and pounce, but before he can make a move, Stiles steps in front of him and blows in his palm.

Derek watches as a cloud of powdered wolfsbane envelops Scott, who coughs, faltering. His eyes roll back and the red glow fades as he staggers, stumbles, and collapses onto the floor with a thump. 

“Fuck.” Stiles’ shoulders slump in relief. “That was... a close call.” 

“What happened?” Derek asks, careful to stay at a safe distance. 

“Action first, talk later, okay? We need to get him to Deaton, like, right this instant. I think the spell broke, but on the off chance I’m wrong, it would be safer to chain him down at the clinic. And he looks pretty torn up, so...”

Derek winces, looking at Scott who is a bleeding, wounded mess. Not that Derek looks a lot better. But while he’s healing, the worst of the pain already gone, Scott isn’t. “All right.”

~~~~~

“What happened?” Derek asks again as they’re driving through the night, Stiles focusing on staying within the tempo limit, hyper-vigilant with his eyes on the road. In the backseat Derek is keeoing an eye on Scott, who doesn’t stir. 

“I was waiting for him in his room, we were going to study,” Stiles says. “Then he showed up with the eyes, but he didn’t say anything, just muttered something about how it was all _your_ fault, and _they_ were right, it would be better if _he_ was the alpha, and that’s – that’s not something Scott would say, ever. He’s not your biggest fan, okay, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t know, you’re, like, a decent guy. And then it got worse, and I saw him go all Anakin right before he heading off to slaughter the younglings. He almost went for my throat, literally, so I got _the hell_ out of there and called Deaton. He gave me some of his special-occasion wolfsbane powder, with a bit of lotus, it’s pure, wards off possession. Did I ever tell you about the language of flowers? Oh, I guess... I guess I did. Anyway. Since I thought, better safe than sorry, I drove right to your loft so I could give you some of that stuff. You know the rest.”

Derek lets it sink in for a while. Thinks, for a moment, about how terrified Stiles must have been, facing Scott and seeing him change, falling under the influence whatever the alphas did. And he knows that Stiles was ultimately only concerned for Scott’s wellbeing, but it doesn’t change the fact that Derek owes him for this. 

“How is he?” Stiles asks.

Derek looks down on Scott’s face, the blood caking on his forehead and pooling at his side. He’s deep under. Whatever Deaton gave him knocked him out but good. Might have been Deaton’s power, or Stiles’. “He’s fine. Keep driving, we’re almost there.”

~~~~~

“They temporarily transferred one of their alphas’ power to him,” Deaton says. “It’s an old spell. Rare. Only a powerful emissary will be able to cast it.”

Scott is lying on the examination table, and Deaton is stitching up his side. They’ll have to pull the stitches when Scott starts healing, but for now, it’s the easiest way to make his arm looks remotely like it should. 

“They have an emissary on their side?” Derek asks. 

Deaton sighs. “Unfortunately. My sister, Marin.”

“Marin?” Stiles asks. “Marin, as in _Marin Morell_? The school counselor?”

Deaton sends him a wary glance, nods, and Stiles frowns. “She’s working with _Deucalion_?”

“She is a very powerful druid,” Deaton says. “Deucalion entrusts her with his most important tasks.”

“Then you have to help us,” Stiles says. “First the alphas, now an emissary...”

“I can’t,” Deaton says. “I can advise you. Provide help, information – counsel. But I cannot interfere directly, or Marin will too.”

“She already did,” Stiles points out before Derek can. 

“She performed a spell when he asked her to. I gave you the means to counter it. If I do more, I am afraid that I will have to fight her eventually. My willingness to help does not extend to turning against my kin.”

Derek grinds his teeth. 

Stiles doesn’t look happy either. Actually, _pissed off_ is the more accurate description. “Scott could have _died_ there. Derek could have killed him.”

Deaton lifts his head, looking straight at Derek. “But he didn’t. And you arrived in time to prevent the worst.”

“I don’t get it,” Stiles says. “You’re willing to help, but only when you don’t have to get your hands dirty? But your sister did, didn’t she? She brainwashed Scott and sent him after Derek, knowing he could die. What kind of person does that?”

Deaton sighs. “We have talked about this before, Stiles. The alpha pack is here for a reason, and while I may not agree with their methods, I am very well aware that there has to be some kind of... let’s call it _authority_ to make sure that rogue packs cause no harm to human society, nor to other werewolves. And I am not Derek’s emissary. Until he finds someone to fill that position, I am willing to provide some support. Within limits.”

“You helped my mother,” Derek says, knowing that some of his resentment is audible to both Deaton and Stiles.

“I did. Talia Hale trusted me. Do you?” Deaton asks pointedly, one eyebrow raised, and Derek has nothing to say, because they both know that he never will, not after Deaton lured Laura into town, unknowingly complicit in her murder. 

“But,” Stiles says. “If. If I. The – the spell we talked about.” 

His face flushes bright red. Derek almost chokes on his spit when he realizes what Stiles means, because for a blissful moment, he had almost forgotten. 

“What about it?” Deaton says. His face gives nothing away. He keeps working on Scott’s wound with steady hands. The needle pierces through skin, and he pulls he thread through in one practiced, smooth motion. 

“Wouldn’t she be able to reverse it?”

“It depends on how powerful the spell is.” Deaton looks up to at Stiles for a second, communicating something complex with the way his mouth twists for half a second. “But even if she could, I doubt that she _would_. She assists Deualion only when he asks her to. Once you have proven yourself capable, the alpha pack will leave you alone.”

Deaton ties a last knot, cuts the thread and puts the needle holder and scissors down. He checks Scott’s pulse, nodding briefly, then turns to face Derek. 

“As I said, I can provide _some_ support. My clinic is neutral ground. If you wanted to, I would be willing to provide assistance for your negotiations with the Argents.”

“No,” Derek says immediately. That’s something he needs to do on his own. “It’s not your business.”

Deaton nods, not fazed in the slightest. Stiles, on the other hand, looks at Derek in outrage and opens his mouth, no doubt intending to let loose one of these endless streams of words with the goal to tell Derek his exact opinion is on the matter, but at the same moment Scott groans and opens his eyes, which are back to human brown, and links in confusion.

Whatever Stiles intended to say is forgotten as he bends over him. “Hey, buddy. What a trip, huh?”

“What – what happened?” Scott asks, trying to sit up, but he's restrained by the leather straps across his chest. He brings up one hand to touch his side, then his forehead, where Deaton removed a couple of splinters that left deep scratches that aren’t completely healed yet. “Ow.”

“What do you remember?”

“I don’t know,” Scott admits. “Bits.. bits and pieces. Kali jumped me on my way home from work – and then there was Deucalion, and the school guidance counselor, who – and then I was – I felt like –“ 

He turns wide, guilty eyes toward Derek. “Shit. Did I -” 

“You tried,” Derek says, telling himself that he’s not going to hold it against Scott. _This wouldn’t have happened if you were in my pack._ He’s not going to say it. But it’s true. They wouldn’t have been able to turn Scott against him if Scott had submitted to him. Boyd, while feral, didn’t try to kill Derek; he just ran through the woods attacking whoever or whatever got in his way. 

Derek bites his tongue so hard he almost tasted blood. He knows Scott well enough to know that this isn’t the right time to bring it up, even though he wants to, _has to_ before long if all of them want to get out of this alive. But he doesn’t need the huge warning sign of Stiles’ face to know that if he tries to guilt-trip Scott now, Scott might give in, but it wouldn’t be sincere. It has to be Scott’s decision, he needs to come around on his own, because if his submission isn’t real, the alphas will know. Neither of them can lie to Deucalion’s face.

Scott, looking a bit sheepish, offers him a tentative smile. “I’m sorry.”

 _Don’t be sorry. Just do what is necessary,_ Derek doesn’t say, just nods sharply and turns to go, leaving the three of them behind to sort things out.

Derek’s already out on the street as Stiles comes after him, calling his name. Deaton’s front door falls shut behind him. “Hey.”

Derek turns on his heels, staring at him.

“So,” Stiles says. And nothing else.

There it is, the huge elephant in the room between them, the one Derek tried so hard not to think about. He's played out dozens of conversations in his mind, how it might go, what he could say – and now he’s standing in front of Stiles and can’t come up with a single thing to say.

“You – you never called me. About – the ritual.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Derek says. 

And of course Stiles takes it the wrong way, different emotions crossing his face in rapid succession, hurt, shame, self-loathing, anger – to be replaced by steely determination. “Scott almost died,” he says. 

He holds Derek’s gaze, and Derek’s resolve crumbles. There’s no escape now, not when tonight’s events make every objection he might have – could have, _should have_ – voiced look pretty weak anyway. “I know.”

“Then...” But Stiles doesn’t finish his sentence. His face is red with embarrassment. 

And Derek... Derek nods, once, and swallows around the lump in his throat.

“Yeah?” Stiles asks in a small voice, and Derek can’t imagine how much this must cost him, how desperate he must be to suggest this. 

He can’t imagine it, so he just nods a second time and clears his throat. “Thursday.”

“Oh – yeah. I guess. That’s – that’s good. Okay. Thursday, then? I’ll come ‘round after school.”

Derek stares at him and can’t think of anything to make this better, to reassure Stiles somehow; so he stays silent, nods one more time and turns to go. 

~~~~~

 _Remember to get the tokens,_ the first message reads.

 _Are you allergic to any kind of stuff?_ the second one says. 

_Like, the kind of stuff they put in lube,_ the next one clarifies not a minute later.

That’s Tuesday, and Derek answers them to the best of his abilities. 

_Will do._

_No._

_It’s fine._

_Do you have the tokens?_ That one comes in on Wednesday morning at 5.30 am. 

_Working on it,_ Derek replies. _Shouldn’t you still be asleep?_

 _Early birds and all,_ Stiles sends. _Stuff to do._

Derek doesn’t reply, but he gets up as well to make coffee in his sparsely furnished kitchen. The phone vibrates again as he’s pouring the milk. _Off to school. If Scott calls u, be gentle, k._

Derek raises his eyebrows over his coffee mug. 

Scott calls shortly after noon. “Listen,” he says. Coughs. Tries again. “I guess I wanted to say – you said it wasn’t my fault, but it was, kind of, so, I don’t know, can we – can we talk?”

“Sure,” Derek says. 

“Great. Can I come by tonight? I promise not to bite you this time.”

Derek hears someone snort in the background, doesn’t even need to focus on the second heartbeat to know it’s Stiles who’s listening in. 

~~~~~

“I’m sorry,” Scott says. “I know – I know it probably doesn’t mean anything to you, but for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

He’s standing with his feet set a little apart, braced for attack and his hands clenching and unclenching in turn. At least he meets Derek’s eyes, not evading his gaze as usual. “And I know that Deucalion couldn’t have made me do that if I were in your pack. And I also know that you could have killed me, gotten rid of the omega as they told you to, but you didn’t.”

It’s true. Derek could have done it, but to what purpose? Getting rid of Scott wouldn’t have changed anything on a larger scale, and Derek... Derek wouldn’t have been able to look at himself in the mirror. It’s not what his mother would have done, or Laura. Peter, sure... But between Talia and Peter Hale, Derek knows the kind of alpha he rather wants to be. “I didn’t want to.”

“I know,” Scott says. “Is... is your offer still standing? To join your pack?”

As much as Derek would like to say yes, just go with it, that’s not an option. 

“That depends,” he says.

For a second, Scott looks confused. “You mean – what do you mean?”

“Being pack – it’s not about control,” Derek says. “It’s not about power.” 

“But you said, back then, that betas made an alpha more powerful,” Scott says. “Isn’t that the reason you bit the others?”

“We’re stronger in numbers,” Derek says, though he doesn’t know whether he can make Scott undersand. “But that’s not the only reason to build a pack. A part of it, but not the most important one, not when it comes to _being_ pack. It’s about relying on each other, anchoring each other. Being pack requires being able to _trust._ On all sides.”

He watches as Scott takes in his words. 

“You don’t trust me.” It’s not an accusation, thankfully. It feels like Scott, for the first time, truly considers Derek’s words.

“I want to,” Derek says.

“But?”

Derek thinks of Gerard, the hand around his neck, the arm between his teeth. “I don’t know, can I?”

Scott blinks at him, and he’s clearly offended now. “What do you want me to say?”

“Don’t say anything. _Think_ about it. Think about what it really means to be pack, if you’re really willing to trust me the way you trust your mom, or Deaton or... or Stiles. And if the answer is no, then it’s not going to work.”

Scott stares at him, and Derek waits. 

Finally, reluctantly, Scott nods. “Okay, fair enough. Just – you say it goes both ways, and you haven’t exactly been honest with me either.”

“I didn’t know you,” Derek says. “And I made mistakes.”

It costs him to admit as much, in front of this seventeen year old kid, but Stiles is right, Derek needs to make concessions too. 

“So did I,” Scott says after a moment to Derek’s surprise. “Maybe – maybe we could both start over? See how it goes?” 

“Are you sure about that?” Derek asks.

Scott frowns for a second, reconsidering, but then his features straighten out and he looks Derek straight in the eyes. “I’m willing to try.”

They stare at each other. Scott’s expression is grave, but sincere, and Derek tries to keep his face neutral.

“Next pack meeting is on Friday,” he says, putting the ball back in Scott’s court.

And obviously Scott gets it. ”I’ll be there.”

~~~~~

 _What about the Argents?_ the next message says, and Derek groans. 

_Working on it,_ he replies.

_But you and Scott are cool now, right?_

Derek doesn’t reply because he’s not quite sure. He feels weirdly unsettled. It’s a string of possibilities, the outcome doubtful. Whether Scott is really going to be pack, to a degree that helps to convince Deucalion that their pack is stable. Whether Derek can negotiate a truce with the Argents, make a treaty that holds. Whether Stiles can perform the ritual. And whether Derek can perform _during_ the ritual.

Just this once, he permits himself to think of Stiles, think of him in terms of sex appeal. Stiles, almost as tall as him, shoulders not quite as broad _yet._ Hiding under layers. Stiles, pale with his brown eyes and moles scattered all over his face. They’ll be elsewhere too, he’s the type. Stiles, stumbling and awkward, but surprisingly strong. Capable. The way he talks, the way his mind works – going off track sometimes but with the uncanny ability to analyze and draw conclusions. See beneath the surface. Stiles and his determination, the instinct to protect his loved ones: his father, Scott, Lydia. Do they even know to which lengths Stiles would go to see them save?

Stiles, who never once backed down when Derek pushed him, who never bothered to hide the fact that he didn’t like Derek. 

And Derek doesn’t _want_ Stiles to like him. He’s not selfish enough to want Stiles to be hurt. That’s how it is, and that’s why Stiles would be better off far away from him. 

Only that’s not an option anymore. 

It’s not. 

Derek’s phone rings.

“Hey,” Stiles says. “So Scott says he just joined your pack. You owe me for that, man.”

Derek hears a clicking noise in the background. A ball pen, maybe, and he imagines Stiles sitting at his desk, playing with it. 

“Anyway,” Stiles says. “I guess I also wanted to say thanks because you weren’t too hard on him, and that’s something, at least, and hopefull it’ll all work out. And – we’ll see each other tomorrow, yeah?”

“Stiles,” Derek says. “It will be all right.” 

He doesn’t know that, but feels the need to say it anyway. 

After a short moment of silence, Stiles exhales noisily. “Yeah. I guess. I’ve got all the stuff we need, and I’m pretty sure it’ll work, I’m just – nervous, I guess.”

“That’s okay.”

“I mean – you and me, that’s – you don’t even like me, and I kinda detest you, and we’re not really friends, and – it’s weird.”

“Stiles.”

“So I just wanted to say, I’m sorry you have to do this.”

Derek rolls his eyes. How can this kid be for real? Seriously? He’s planning to sacrifice his virginity in a ritual, and his greatest worry is Derek’s peace of mind? 

“Stiles,” Derek says. “It’s never been about me. _I don’t mind_.”

Stiles is quiet for a moment. The clicking has stopped, and Derek can focus on his heartbeat, wishes, for a second, he could see Stiles’ face, which is so easy to read, expressive.

“Then why were you planning to turn me down?” Stiles asks carefully.

“Because you shouldn’t have to do this.”

“Oh.” 

Derek can hear him thinking on the other end of the line.

“Right,” Stiles says. “So I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“I’ll be here,” Derek says. 

“...’kay,” Stiles says. “Bye.” 

Stiles ends the call. Derek holds the phone in his hand, staring down at it with a frown.


	5. III

Derek opens the door before Stiles can knock. 

“Oh. I mean, hi,” Stiles says, fingers slowly uncurling, twitching as his arms drops. He stares at Derek like a deer caught in the headlights and licks his lips. “Can I come in?”

Derek rolls his eyes and steps to the side. He closes the door behind him, briefly considers locking it but doesn’t. Stiles shouldn’t have to feel trapped. 

“Can you, like, lock it? You know, in case any of the others drop by?”

So much for that. Derek bars the door, telling himself he wasn’t projecting, not even a little bit.

Stiles steps into the middle of the room. “Wow. Tidy.” 

Derek snorts. He cleared a space in the middle of the room, which didn’t take long since he doesn’t have a lot of furniture anyway. Though he _did_ clean the floor.

“Smells like... _wood polish_?” Stiles says, brows raised in disbelief. “You cleaned for me?”

“Shut up,” Derek says, crossing his arms at this chest. He’s not blushing. He’s not.

“I’m flattered," Stiles says, with quite a bit of unholy glee. “But you realize I’m a sure thing, right?” 

And if Derek didn’t watch him as closely as he does, he wouldn’t notice the slight tightening around his eyes, the hint of bitterness behind the fake cheerfulness. 

“Don’t say that,” Derek says. 

“Why? It’s true.”

“No,” Derek says. “You’re not – you don’t have to. No one expects it of you, least of all me, and you – you can go whenever you want. We’ll find a different way.” 

“And wait until Deucalion gets bored of messing with us and goes straight over to the killing?” Stiles says. “I don’t think so.” 

“Stiles...”

“I thought we agreed on this. I didn’t come here to have you treat me like I’m a delicate flower.”

“I know.”

“Don’t make this harder than it is, okay? Let’s just get this over with. You don’t need to sugarcoat it, I know exactly how messed up all of this is, but unless you have another solution, and sorry, but so far, you’ve proven extremely useless in that regard, I’d really appreciate it if you could just play along.” Stiles falls silent, licking his lips again. “Sorry.”

Derek opens mouth; closes it. “Did you - did you practice that speech in front of a mirror?” he asks after a moment.

“No,” Stiles says. “That... just came out.” He takes a deep breath, dumps his backpack onto Derek’s freshly polished floor. “If you want to know the truth, I’m nervous as fuck, all right?”

As if that hadn’t been obvious all along. “Don’t be,” Derek says. “It’ll work out just fine.” 

“How can you know that?” 

“I just do,” Derek says, and when Stiles opens his mouth to object, Derek opens his arms, lifting them, an invitation. “Come here.”

“What?” Stiles says in a weirdly high voice.

“Stiles, come here.”

Stiles stares at him with his mouth half open, lips moving, then he shuts his mouth with an audible click. Swallows. And obeys, stepping into the circle of Derek’s arms, and Derek pulls him in an embrace that feels stilted, awkward – not remotely as comfortable as it should. Derek’s throat is tight with _something_. It’s been so long since he held someone that close. He’s not used to being touched anymore, not used to reaching out to someone. But this isn’t about him, and he’s spent the last twenty-four hours talking himself into this, swearing to himself that he’d do whatever it took to make this work. He forces himself to relax, taking deep breaths. Resting his chin on Stiles’ shoulder, Derek holds him tight. It’s just a hug, nothing sexual, and Stiles exhales and slowly, oh so slowly, melts into it. He puts his hands on Derek’s back, the touch soft at first but turning into something more substantial after a second. Stiles sighs. Derek feels it against his chest, how it makes Stiles lean just a little more toward him. 

“It will be all right,” Derek says. “It will be fine.”

“This is so fucked up,” Stiles murmurs into the fabric of his shirt. 

_You tell me,_ Derek thinks, and says, “If we’re going to do this, we’ll do it right.”

Stiles huffs. “ _Right_.” 

Derek can’t tell whether it’s agreement or exasperation. Stiles hands mess up his collar. He feels alien in Derek’s arms. 

“Calm down;” Derek says. “You have nothing to prove, don’t pretend it’s fine if it’s not.”

“I won’t.”

“I mean it,” Derek insists. “You need to tell me... you need to tell me what you want, or don’t want. I can read some of it in your body language, your physical reactions, but I can’t read your mind. So you have to tell me.”

Sties huffs out a laugh. “Okay.”

It’s a heavy weight that settles on Derek’s shoulders. The responsibility for getting this right, for not making this something Stiles will regret for the rest of his life. For not traumatizing a teenager. He’s not going to hurt Stiles. He needs to be a grown-up, take the lead. Even though he really doesn’t have a clue where they’re heading. Apart from the obvious. “Okay. Time to lay down some ground rules.”

Stiles tenses, and Derek slowly rubs his back, up and down but not dipping beyond the waistline. “I touch you any way you don’t like, you tell me to stop. Any time, I will. Even when... even when we’re... I’ll stop.”

He can head Stiles’ smile in his words. “All right.” 

Stiles lets go of him to meet his eyes. “Same goes for you.” 

Derek nods, quick to dismiss the words, but maybe Stiles knows him better than the thought, because his hands tighten on Derek’s upper arms. “Promise. I know you. I’m actually not really good at dealing with pain, or things that put me off, but I have a feeling that you are prepared to be a martyr, and that’s a no-go, really, so the honesty thing has to go both ways.” 

For some reason, Derek has to swallow around a lump in his throat. “I promise,” he says.

“Good,” Stiles says. “Okay. So...” He takes another step back from Derek, scanning the room. 

“Tell me exactly what’s going to happen,” Derek says.

Stiles nods and turns from a wounded sixteen-year-old with doe eyes into the hyper-alert, annoying little shit Derek has come to know. And like. 

A little. 

Better, at least, than bitter and insecure Stiles. 

“We make a circle. Ten to fifteen feet wide, interspersed with candles according to the number of people belonging to the pack, and strewn herbs. Then we mark the cardinal directions and put the things we collected in the right positions to represent the places we want to protect.” Stiles sounds more confident now. “Complicated, I know, but it doesn’t have to be accurate, it just helps if they’re vaguely in the right order. We leave enough space in the center to... that we can... once the ritual is cast. Then we...” and he falls silent, biting his lips, and taking a deep breath. “So we better put some blankets in the center, and... stuff.”

“Stuff?” Derek asks. If it were a different situation, he’d be silently amused by Stiles’ rambling.

“Um... _lube_.” Stiles clears his throat. “I guess that... once I’ve spoken the incantation, we have to complete the sacrifice before we break the circle. We have a bit of time, it’s not as if we need to – wham bam, you know what I mean – we don’t have to rush it, but no bathroom breaks in between or anything.” 

Derek just nods. 

“So I guess I better make all the preparations, and then... I need a few moments, alone.”

“Sure,” Derek says, before something else occurs to him. “Do you...” he hesitates, but there is no way to phrase this politely and keep it unambiguous. “Do you have to be one who gets fucked?” 

Stiles freezes. “What? I mean...” Red spots appear on his cheeks. “I... I guess... either way is fine? But... you? I thought... you...” 

For once, Derek feels comfortable enough to flash him a grin. “I guess this would be the moment to tell you that I’m not as straight as you thought I was.”

Stiles stares at him for a while. “Yeah,” he says weakly, wetting his lips. “I guess now’s a good time. You... you really weren’t joking, were you? I mean... we could, of course we could. But to be honest, that never came to my mind, so... really?”

“Really.”

“Oh.” Stiles’ face is now red all over. His eyes are wide, and as Derek watches, his pupils dilate. “ _Oh._ ”

For the first time, Derek picks up signs of interest, maybe even arousal. It gets stronger as he stares at Stiles, rising an eyebrow.

“Have you.... I mean, you have done this before, then? With a guy?” Stiles clarifies. 

“Yes, Stiles.”

“Oh. That’s good to know.” But for some reason, Stiles doesn’t seem reassured. “As long as you don’t expect... I mean, I’m not experienced, and...”

“Not that often,” Derek says. “A few times. And I never took anyone home with me.” He wonders why he feels compelled to tell Stiles, to justify himself. “It’s been a while, in any case.”

Apparently, his revelation has just blown Stiles’ mind. As if the thought that Derek could be bisexual and consider bottoming was literally unthinkable. But then, Stiles is a sixteen-year-old kid, living in a small town. He hasn’t been living in New York, hasn’t seen Derek visit a gay bar at twenty, self-conscious and _scared_ , being nothing less than bait. 

Stiles _still_ doesn’t look reassured. Interested, yes, but still hesitant.

Derek sighs. “Stiles. Whatever you want to do it is fine by me. No pressure. You want to fuck me? You can. You want me to fuck you? That’s just as well.” The scent of arousal grows stronger. Derek’s willing to work with that. “I like both,” he says. “You can do me. I won’t even be sore after – not for long.” 

“Uh.”

Derek moves closer, until he’s close enough to lean in and whisper in Stiles’ ear. “That’s not always a bonus, you know. When you’re getting fucked, you want to feel it. Feel how used and open you are.”

“Oh, fuck.” Stiles’ voice comes out gravel-rough. He’s leaking pheromones, and Derek could swear that he’s getting hard as well. “You’re not... you’re not supposed to talk dirty to me.”

“If I were talking _dirty_ ,” Dereks says, the air of his exhalation grazing Stiles’ skin and takes a deep satisfaction from the way Stiles’ breath hitches, “I’d be begging for your cock.”

Stiles honest-to-God shudders. “That’s... oh my God, dude, that’s not fair. Don’t talk to me like that if I have to prepare a freaking ritual.” 

He doesn’t move away from Derek, though, swaying toward him, and Derek takes a deep breath, letting the rich, telling scent flood his lungs. “You do that. I take the bathroom break.”

He pulls back, hears Stiles’ whispered, “ _fuck,_ ” on his way to the bathroom and allows himself a smirk. For the first time it feels like they can actually do this.

~~~~~

He takes a shower – the second one since noon. He doesn’t have any enema equipment at hand, and he’s no fan of it anyway, so he takes his time to make sure he’s thoroughly clean where it matters. Uses his fingers to loosen the muscles, even though by the time they get to it, he’ll have to do it again. But it’s a good way to get used to the feeling after so long. It’s been years.

Derek slips into boxers and a loose-fitting t-shirt and returns to the living room, where Stiles has already prepared the circle and is just positioning the different items. Derek stares at the center, where a meager blanket is spread out on the hard wooden floor, and shakes his head. In the end he takes his mattress from the bed, freshly made with new sheets. Stiles looks at him oddly but doesn’t comment on it. Careful not to destroy the circle, Derek carries it to the center and puts it down on the floor, then goes to fetch the things he collected from Boyd, Isaac and Erica and, begrudgingly, Peter. 

Stiles stares down at the hair Derek picked from Peter’s jacket. “We could leave him out,” he suggests, with a hopeful note. 

“They’ll kill him if they believe he is an omega,” Derek says.

Stiles opens his mouth, and Derek, knowing exactly what will come out next, slides his hand over it. “Don’t say it.”

“Hey,” Stiles protests, lips tickling Derek’s palm. “That’s just rude!”

Struck by the urge to tease, Derek cups his chin, forefinger still resting on Stiles’ lips and sealing them shut. 

Stiles lips part “But...” he starts and falls silent again as Derek tells him, softly, “hush,” while caressing his jaw with his thumb. He stares at Derek with wide eyes. 

Derek smiles. “Good.”

He pulls back, and puts the hair in Stiles hand, makes him close his fingers around it, gently. 

“You are an asshole,” Stiles says after a second. Derek snorts.

A couple of minutes later, they have run out of things to do, and Stiles disappears into the bathroom. Derek tries not to listen in on him, distracting himself by checking the locks and the parking space. His Camaro sits in the driveway. Stiles parked his car a few blocks away so no one who accidentally drives by will know he’s at Derek’s.

Stiles reappears and Derek turns his head to look at him. “What have you told your dad?” 

“Told him I was at Scott’s.”

“Do you have a curfew?” Like either of them needs a reminder that Stiles is underage, but Derek feels obligated to ask anyway.

“No. I told him I’d help Scott to prepare for our chem quiz tomorrow, and if I weren’t back by ten, I’d stay over. We do that all the time, and dad has the night shift anyway. How long... how long do you think it’s going to take?”

Derek very nearly groans. He shouldn’t have asked in the first place. “How about: I don’t know, because we’re not going to rush this? How about: you can damn well stay here, because I’m not going to throw you out in the middle of the night?”

“You want me to stay?”

“Yes, Stiles, I want you to stay.”

“Oh... okay.”

Stiles really couldn’t have made it clearer that he still thinks Derek is a selfish asshole. The annoyance helps Derek keep his embarrassment in check. 

Because they are out of reasons for stalling. Apparently Stiles comes to the same conclusion. He stands just outside the circle, looking down at the candles. 

“Do you need anything else?” Derek asks, and Stiles shakes his head.

“I just... a short run-through wouldn’t hurt. It would help me focus.” Stiles looks up at him. “You don’t have to do much, just sit down and let me me do my thing. And, at some point, you should name your pack members and claim your territory.”

“Tell me what you need me to do,” Derek says.

It turns out that the incantation Stiles came up with really really doesn’t requite a lot of participation from Derek. The spell has to come from Stiles, he has to call the magic, gather it in himself. With the sacrifice, the magic will be released, completing the ritual. As Stiles says, it’s all improvised, but Derek is reluctantly impressed. He’s no expert, but he can tell that quite a bit of planning went into the preparations. Stiles has done all the work. There’s not much Derek can add to it. He’s going to be indebted to Stiles. 

“You don’t look happy,” Stiles interrupts his thoughts. “I get that this isn’t what you would have chosen, but...”

“It’s fine,” Derek says. “It’s fine.”

“Just, if you could... focus on what the spell is meant to do? Think happy thoughts. Protection. Keeping everyone safe. Being a responsible alpha. Stuff like that. That would help.”

Derek sighs and tries. It has he benefit of taking his mind off the things to come. Which is ridiculous, because it’s not like he’s the virgin. 

He turns off the ceiling lights. It’s still bright enough outside that they don’t need them. They’re all alone in this huge building, the loft become a safe haven – silent, dark, smelling faintly of pine needles – floor polish – and lavender and the other herbs Stiles chose. A bouquet of marigold and cypress, for death and mourning, grief and pain. It stands for the past, all the losses they suffered, the dead, their missing family members. A ring made of straw and lavender. Representing the pack, devotion and unity. Lavender was also Stiles’ mother’s favorite, obviously. Inside of it sits a single blossom of Wolfsbane. Wolfsbane, because it kills werwolves and heals them, it’s sacred, and no other flower represents them the same way. Twigs of box and oak, woven together in a ring for constancy and strength. One for each candle, to strengthen the magic. White heather, strewn along the outline of the circle, for protection, the spell’s primary purpose. And, circling the mattress, white lilies for innocence and virginity. And pomegranate seeds for seduction and lust, surrender, giving in. 

Derek hopes Stiles knows what he is doing. 

Then there are the tokens – hair, mostly, but also a small teddy bear and an old action hero figure – that belong to each pack member, placed under their respective candles. From these candles, lines are drawn with chalk to what Stiles calls pmbas, “pack members by association”. Melissa McCall, the sheriff, Boyd’s little sister and his grandma, Allison Argent, Jackson Whittemore and Lydia Martin.

Derek follows the pattern in his mind, frowning. “This is wrong.” He names the candles in his mind. Derek, Peter, Isaac, Boyd, Erica, Scott. “Where is your candle?”

He knows the answer before Stiles has the chance to tell him as he looks at Scott’s candle and sees the line drawn to Stiles’ name, amongst others.

“My candle?” Stiles asks, looking at Derek at if he’d grown horns and a tail. “But...”

It shouldn’t feel lik a punch to the gut. Derek’s hands clench into fists. “You are pack,” he says. “You _are_. If you weren’t, we wouldn’t be doing this.”

Stiles hesitates. “I... I wasn’t sure. How it works. I’m not a werewolf...”

That’s such a weird objection that Derek struggles for a second to understand it. 

“Stiles,” he says, trying to find the right words. “If you were only a... _pack member by association_ to Scott, you wouldn’t be here, with me. I thought you knew that. Human, werewolf – it makes no difference. You belong to my pack as surely as Isaac does, or Boyd and Erica.”

“Someone obviously failed to send me the memo,” Stiles mutters. “I thought there would be – I don’t know, some sort of declaration? I mean, Scott made it sound all official.”

“You made that declaration by associating with me,” Derek says. “By saving my life – saving me from Scott. Coming up with this spell, and turning to me for help.”

“Oh.”

Derek tenses again. “Except – if you really don’t _want_ to be...”

“I didn’t say that! It’s just...”

“What?”

“I’m confused. That one time, when we fought to protect Lydia because you thought she was the kanima – you said that Scott was already an alpha with his own pack. And that I was a part of it.” 

“At that time, you were,” Derek says. “It all depends... on what you want. What decisions you make. How you act, and what you want to believe. When I said that Scott was an alpha it was because he acted like one. He stood up to me on several occasions, and betas don’t usually do that. There have been betas, or even omegas, who became alphas in their own right. Natural leaders who exercised authority, who developed alpha powers. We call them _true alphas_. Scott isn’t there yet, though he might be, one day. Anyway... you were his, at the time; doesn’t mean you still are.”

“And apparently I chose you without even realizing?” 

“What you wrote... you wrote in your outline that we should cast the ritual together. You chose me. You didn’t ask Scott, even though you could have.”

Stiles winces. “Dude, are you kidding me? Scott and me – we’re _bros._ I wouldn’t – and I doubt _he_ even could. You know.”

“You said it should be me because I’m the alpha.” Derek doesn’t know why it’s so important to him. “You trusted me enough to suggest the sacrifice.” 

It shouldn’t make a difference whether Stiles has his own candle. Derek _knows_ he’s pack, even if Stiles doesn’t. But it just doesn’t sit right with him, as if Stiles believes he is only tolerated in Derek’s pack because of Scott.

“Yeah,” Stiles admits. “And because I really didn’t want to do this with Scott. I would have, if I’d had no other choice.”

The thought makes Derek cringe. This spell, this sacrifice – if it _has_ to happen, it should be with someone who will acknowledge the significance – for the pack, but also for Stiles. If anyone has to take Stiles’ virginity, it should be someone who realizes what it means. It should... it should be _Derek_ , no one else. 

“Change the pattern,” Derek says. It just isn’t right.

Stiles squints at him, considering, but then he fetches another candle without a word of protest. They make the necessary adjustments, draw the lines from Stiles to the sheriff, from Stiles to Lydia, and replace their tokens. Then it’s done. 

“So,” Stiles says after a moment. “Somehow I feel... like we’re going steady now, or something.”

Derek snorts. “That’s one way to put it.” 

“You do know that there’s a correlation between magic and reality – that they influence each other, right? So by changing the pattern, we change how we see the pack. How we interact.”

“So?” Derek asks. 

“Just saying,” Stiles says. “I mean, you’ve put me on one level with all the wolves. But I’m human.”

“Really? I never noticed.”

“Very funny. But I mean, if you believe that... not that I think you would, just... I mean, I like being human.”

“I know that.”

“Not that ,just because I’m pack now, you start to think I want some fancy claws and fangs too.”

Derek stares at him, and Stiles fidgets under his gaze, but doesn’t avert his eyes. His heartbeat is fast, but steady.

“Stiles. I know you don’t want the bite.”

Stiles looks at him. Derek glares back.

“Yeah – okay. Sorry.” At least he has the decency to look mildly embarrassed. “So...” 

“If you _ever_ ,” Derek hears himself say. “If you ever _wanted_ to – I would.”

“Er... thanks, I guess?” Stiles blushes harder. “Does that mean you...”

Derek lifts his eyebrows.

“Never mind.”

“What, Stiles.”

“I just thought you didn’t like me. Much. Or, like, at all.”

Derek sighs and rolls his eyes. 

“Anyway. Okay. So. Where were we?”

The check the set-up one more time. No further issues come up, and after casting Derek one final glance and taking a deep breath, Stiles procures a lighter from his pocket and starts lighting the candles.

Derek sits down one the mattress, watching as Stiles starts murmuring incantations. He can feel the magic build. It’s like electricity, flowing to form the outline of the circle, stretching out with every candle lit. When Derek closes his eyes, he can almost see it, a colorless energy just beyond his reach. He recognizes it, the same way he recognized the barrier of mountain ash Stiles cast around the warehouse. 

“For the pack members of the Hale Pack,” Stiles says, looking at Derek.

Derek takes a deep breath. “Derek Hale. Isaac Lahey. Erica Reyes. Vernon Milton Boyd. Peter Hale. Stiles Stilinski. Scott McCall. As the pack of Beacon Hills, we claim this territory; these lands are ours.”

That’s all, that’s the entirety of his contribution. He assumes that Stiles just made him say it to make him feel more important to the outcome of the ritual than he actually is.

“By the memory of our loved ones,” Stiles continues. “By the grief and the mourning of our families. By the blood of the wolves that guard the land. By the full moon that strengthens our bond, I weave this spell. For protection from our enemies and safety in our homes. No evil can pass this barrier. No harm can come to us.”

It goes on like that. Derek feels the magic close around them, building a dome. He knows by instinct that if anyone broke into the loft and tried to interrupt them, he would be thrown right back out – the magic is already working, Stiles being its origin. 

"The pack is strong, we stand united. For our future, I weave this spell. For peace, I weave this spell.” Stiles comes to stand in front of the mattress. He looks straight at Derek. His hands are hanging at his sides, clenched into fists. “The spell is woven,” he says. “As a sacrifice I give my innocence, my purity. Once the sacrifice is given, the spell will be cast, and cannot be undone.”

Stiles falls silent. Derek can sense the magic, safely contained inside of him. The universe seems to he holding its breath until a promise is fulfilled, until the ritual is complete. The magic is _waiting._

Stiles bites his lips. “Do you feel that?” he whispers.

“Yes.”

“Then...”

Derek opens his arms. Stiles falls to his knees at the edge of the mattress and edges forward, hesitating for another second before he slides into Derek’s lap. Derek can feel his body heat under his hands, can feel the tension – magic, but also nervousness – run through him in faint tremors.

“We have time,” Derek quietly reminds him. 

Stiles laughs, hushed. “Yeah, but... I think I am going to die of embarrassment if we don’t do anything soon. Derek... please?”

And Derek, compelled by something he can’t quite name, pulls him close and kisses him.


	6. IV

Stiles quite obviously hasn’t done much in terms of kissing before. He’s tentative at first, then a little too eager and sloppy, but greedy for more, so Derek just tilts his head a little to the side and keeps going, puts up with too much spit and the fine line between too little and too much tongue. They make it work, somehow, well enough that they’re both a little out of breath as they break the kiss. 

“It that... can I...?” Stiles asks, looking scared but also turned on and so very young. 

Derek feels reminded of himself the first time he got to kiss someone – not Kate, thankfully, it’s one of the firsts she didn’t get to have from him – and how nervous he was, wondering whether he was allowed to touch and how far he could go. “You can touch me however you want,” he says. 

Stiles eyes lighten up. “Good. That’s good. Because I really, really want to.”

They make out for a long time. Long enough that Stiles gets better at kissing, that it becomes less of an uncoordinated struggle and more of a teasing, playful slide of tongues, alternating with little bites and licks. Derek discovers he has a thing for Stiles’ lower lip, making Stiles moan and shudder as he nibbles at it. He also has a thing for Stiles’ neck, and Stiles goes feeble and pliant when Derek kisses him behind his ear. Yet Stiles isn’t a passive participant, not by far; he’s demanding, investigating with hands and lips, fingers combing through Derek’s hair, the other hand sliding over his shoulders down to his side, a thumb brushing accidentally-on-purpose over Derek’s nipple through the thin cotton of this shirt. 

Derek retaliates by slipping a hand under Stiles’ shirt and caressing the soft skin at the small of his back, fingers tracing the waistband of his pants. Stiles arches into the touch. 

Their shirts come off after a while. Stiles is self-conscious at first, refusing to let Derek see him, pressing closer so they are skin to skin. Derek strokes his back, marveling at the smooth, pale skin, the way the muscles ripple under his touch. Stiles moans as Derek’s thumb brushes over his shoulder blade, and bites Derek’s earlobe. 

Time, Derek decides, shuddering with want, to return to the kissing, before Stiles gets more creative and Derek embarrasses himself.

They end up stretched out on the mattress, Stiles on top of him, moving against him already. Derek slows him down with a hand on his hips. “Take your time,” he whispers. 

“I can’t,” Stiles whispers back. He shifts his weight, and Derek feels the hard shape of his cock against his thigh. “I don’t think I can hold back for long. I just...” Stiles blushes, hides his face against Derek’s neck. 

“Let’s get our clothes off,” Derek says. “Then you can do whatever you want.”

Stiles sits up, carefully avoiding any further kind of contact. “Okay. Okay. So...” 

He climbs off Derek and starts unbuttoning his jeans. Derek strips off his sweatpants, one easy, fluid motion. Stiles fumbles with his buttons, but stops altogether as Derek lies back on the mattress. “You... you’re naked.”

Derek takes a deep breath. He turn to his side, head propped up on one elbow. Giving Stiles time to look. His dick, half-hard, is twitching and growing harder under Stiles’ gaze. 

Stiles, who has completely forgotten about his own pants, kneels down on the mattress. “Can I... can I touch you? Just for a second?”

Derek nods and lets his legs fall open to give access and permission. Stiles bites his lips in a look of utter concentration. He frowns and his lips part, hand edging closer – closer – and finally closing around Derek’s dick. Derek’s breath hitches. Stiles is hesitant at first, but then his grip gets firmer, tuns _just right._ Derek shifts, can’t _not_ move, and thrusts up just a little into Stiles’ grip. 

“Oh,” Stiles breathes, almost letting go, and Derek bites his tongue to keep himself from whining. Then Stiles’ grip tightens again and he starts stroking Derek experimentally. It shouldn’t be this good – it’s too languid, Derek likes it harder – but, _fuck_ , it is, good enough that Derek’s is on edge and panting after barely a minute. 

“If you’re keeping this up, I am going to come,” he whispers. It’s a little humiliating how his voice has taken on this throaty tone, but Stiles deserves a warning. Just that, a warning, if he wants to get Derek off... Derek won’t object. They have all night. 

Stiles lets go of him reluctantly. “Sorry.”

“I told you, you can do whatever you want,” Derek says, knowing he’s setting himself up for endless teasing, but he’s not yet desperate to come. He wants to give Stiles this, getting to do what he wants, to explore. He just wishes he was better at this, could lighten the mood with a joke, make Stiles laugh – but he’s never been a lighthearted person, and they are not familiar enough for the kind of mutual teasing that comes with being a couple, being boyfriends. Doing this because they actually want to. 

Stiles seems undecided for a moment. Derek slides a foot over his calf. “Or you could take off your pants.”

Stiles laughs, nervous. “I forgot.” 

Derek sits up. “Let me?” he asks. 

Stiles stills with his hands on his waistband, looking at him from under his lashes, and nods. 

Getting Stiles out of his clothes turns out more difficult than expected. Stiles takes off his socks first and promptly loses his balance. Derek manages to catch him just in time and gets hit with an elbow for his effort. He grunts in surprise rather than pain. 

“Fuck. Sorry. God, I’m sorry,” Stiles mutters, and Derek shuts him up by reeling him in and kissing him. 

They’re more comfortable with each other now, and it helps Stiles to relax. He slides into Derek’s lap again, forgetting, it seems, about their task as he traces Derek’s bottom lip with his tongue. Derek smiles into the kiss and tips them both over until he’s on top. Stiles makes a weird squealing noise and stares at him with wide eyes. 

Derek smirks and pulls Stiles’ pants and briefs down in one go.

Stiles’s dick is hard. Leaking, curving slightly to he side, and circumcised, something that never fails to make Derek’s mouth water. The temptation to just go for it and blow Stiles, quick and dirty, is tempting so close to the smell, the warmth of it. He slides on top of Stiles instead – slowly, giving him time to object – but all Stiles does is to throw his head back and moan as their cocks slide against each other. He clutches Derek’s shoulders, starts thrusting up against him. “Fuck. This – oh, fuck.”

“Do you want to be on top?” Derek asks. 

“Can I?” Stiles opens his eyes, blown wide, and Derek flips them again. They almost slip off the mattress, and Stiles laughs breathlessly as they balance on the edge until Derek shifts and maneuvers them both more safely on top. He cups Stiles’ ass with his hands squeezing slightly, and Stiles throws his head back in gasp. 

“Fuck. This... feels so good. You don’t even know...”

“Believe me,” Derek whispers. “I know.” He loves this position, where his hands can roam freely all over Stiles’ skin, map out the foreign territory, rub a thumb over his nipple and pull him down to kiss him again, wet, soft slide of tongues that makes his toes curl with how good it is. “Do you want me to make you come?” 

Stiles inhales sharply. “Yeah. God, please.”

Derek closes a hand around Stiles’ cock. It only takes a couple of slow, languorous strokes before Stiles spurts hot and wet over Derek’s belly with a desperate moan. Derek watches, transfixed, as the tension runs out of him. He doesn’t hesitate to use Stiles’ compliance to his advantage, pushing until Stiles slides off him to lie on his back, and leans over him. Derek doesn’t bother wiping off Stiles’ come, just collects as much of it as he can until it’s coating his fingers, and uses it to open himself up. 

He kisses Stiles again, whose mouth is lax, almost unresponsive. Derek smiles against his lips. It gives him more time to prepare himself. As he reaches for the lube, because come really isn’t enough to make this work for Stiles’ first time, Stiles wakes from his stupor.

“Huh? What are you doing?”

Derek lies back, allowing Stiles to watch. 

“ _Oh._ Oh, _fuck._ Derek.” 

Derek turns his head to look at him, keeping the eye contact as he twists his fingers. “How soon can you get it up again?” 

“Are you – are you kidding me?” Stiles asks, eyes fixed hungrily on where Derek’s fingers are pushing in and out of his ass. “I’m sixteen, dude, I... whenever. Really.” 

Derek levels a skeptical glance at Stiles’ dick. 

“Okay,” Stiles admits. “So I think the magic might help a little.”

Derek leans back. It’s getting good, and he closes his eyes, enjoying the sensation. It will be better with Stiles’ dick inside him, though. “Come on,” he tells Stiles. “Come and get it, if you can.”

“Are you... can I really?” 

“Do it.”

Stiles slides on top of him. It takes s a bit of adjusting, a muttered, “sorry,” or two until they find the perfect position with Derek bent in half, his legs hoisted up and resting on Stiles’ shoulders, and Stiles’ dick nudging against his hole. 

“You won’t hurt me,” Derek says. “You don’t have to go slow.”

“Because you’re too manly to feel pain?” Stiles asks, mastering a bit of snark, not managing to conceal that he’s a nervous, trembling mess.

“No. Because I like it.”

That cuts off any protest Stiles might have come up with. Stiles lets out a shaky breath. “Okay,” he says and pushes in. 

One long stroke, too fast and too hard, hurting just right. Derek groans, caught between pain and pleasure in that first moment when his body isn’t sure whether it’s being punished or rewarded. 

He’s distracted from the sensation as Stiles bottoms out, when there’s a second of suspense – and then the magic breaks away from him, making him cry out, eyes glowing in a swirl of silver and blue. Derek feels the magic flicker and dance as it encloses them, one last breathtaking caress before it ebbs away, running from them in waves to spread out and reach its destination. The ritual is complete. 

Stiles stares at him with wide eyes. “That – it happened,” he whispers. “We made it happen.”

“ _You_ made it happen,” Derek says. The pressure in him, strong and inexorable, doesn’t feel like an intrusion anymore, his body adjusting faster than a human’s would. Derek takes it, owns it and feels owned by it in turn, still caught in the tangles of the powerful magic. He bears down experimentally. Stiles hisses, his eyes wide and overwhelmed. 

“Derek,” he whispers. “Please, tell me I can... don’t tell me to stop.”

“No,” Derek forces out. Is Stiles crazy? “But you have to _move._ ” He pulls Stiles toward him. 

Stiles’ head drops with apparent relief. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Thank fuck.” 

Derek snorts. The sound turns into a gasp as Stiles starts to fuck him. 

There’s no way this isn’t going to be over brutally quickly, and they both know it. Derek reads it in the strain of Stiles’ muscles, the frantic quality of his thrusts and his irregular, labored breaths. If he wants to get off, he needs to hurry, so he closes a hand around his dick. 

It’s not enough. By the time Stiles breaks, Derek is so close he can taste it. 

With a broken moan, Stiles fucks into him. “Derek, holy shit, I can’t even...” His’ eyes roll back in his head, mouth forming a silent _oh_ as he stills and shudders through his orgasm, and _god, fuck_ , he’s beautiful. It’s almost enough to send Derek over, but not quite. He strokes himself furiously, clenching around Stiles’ cock, making Stiles whimper and pull out. It’s too soon. Derek suppresses a curse at the feeling of emptiness, the palpable loss, wants Stiles back inside of him.

Then Stiles slides downward, and any word of protest dies on Derek’s tongues as he says, “Tell me if I’m doing this right, okay?” and bends down to take him into his mouth, the head and then some, hollowing his cheeks and sucking, _hard._

It’s embarrassing how very little it takes. Derek barely manages a weak, “Stiles, I’m...” but Stiles doesn’t stop and Derek digs his claws into the mattress and comes, helplessly, into the sweet hot heaven that is Stiles’ mouth. 

Stiles pulls off, coughing and wiping his mouth on the sheets. Before Derek can find his voice to apologize, Stiles is sliding up and settling down on top of him with his head pillowed on Derek’s shoulder, burrowing into it a little. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I tried to last, I really did, but... it just felt so fucking good.”

Derek cautiously runs a hand through his hair. “No need to apologize. You made more than up for it. Done that a lot?” 

Stiles shakes his head with a rueful laugh. “Virgin, remember? I did some dry runs, though.” He snickers. _Dry run._ Oh my god. Sorry. That was a really _awful_ pun.” 

Derek huffs out a laugh, shaking his head with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “Only you.” Of course Stiles would practice

Stiles snorts. “I’d say it worked pretty well, didn’t it? It’s just that cucumbers don’t usually ejaculate.”

Derek almost chokes on his own spit. “You didn’t just say that!”

Stiles cracks up again. “I didn’t say that,” he agrees, completely unconvincing, trying to stifle his laughter against Derek’s shoulder. He finally shifts his weight until he’s lying next to Derek, an arm and a leg thrown over him. “Somehow... somehow this was almost too easy, you know? Doesn’t really feel like a sacrifice. I mean I got off with a hot guy, twice, and it felt just too good to be true?” 

Derek thinks of Stiles’ nervousness before, his obvious reluctance, and can’t quite agree. “It went well. Doesn’t mean you would have done this if you’d had a choice.”

“No, but...” 

Stiles is a warm, relaxed weight against him. That, more than anything, tells Derek that he didn’t fuck up too badly. Still, he can’t suppress the feeling that he took something from Stiles, something precious. Not his virginity, exactly, more... the chance to do this with someone he was in love with, with someone who wasn’t as jaded and messed-up as Derek. 

“It didn’t go as expected,” Stiles says. “For one, I really didn’t think you’d let me fuck you.”

“I thought we’d gone over that,” Derek says. “It’s not that much of a deal.”

“Everything about this is a big deal to me,” Stiles says, and Derek bites his tongue. “I don’t know, I’m maybe a little... disappointed? In a way. ‘Cause I really didn’t last long, and I guess you would have... made it count. You know.”

Derek cuffs him over the head. 

“Ow!”

“Little idiot. You made it count all right.” Derek rolls his eyes. “If you feel cheated, we can always go another round.” 

“What?” Stiles lifts his head to stare at him in disbelief. “Really?”

Realizing he just opened a wholly different can of worms, Derek curses himself. Sleeping with Stiles once as a part of a magic ritual is one thing. Doing it just to satisfy Stiles’ curiosity another entirely. He shouldn’t encourage Stiles – not if he wants to get out of this as a decent human being, a responsible person. 

He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t.

On the other hand... Derek has let him cast the ritual, trusting Stiles to know what he’s was doing; isn’t it a bit hypocritical to pretend that Stiles can’t make his own choices now of all times? He’s earned Derek’s trust in more ways than one, and if there’s something Derek owes him, it’s to respect Stiles’ decisions. 

And it’s just sex. If this is the one night they have together, then they might as well make it count. 

“If you want to,” Derek says. “If you want to, we can.”

“You – you’re not kidding, are you?” Stiles asks. “I mean, I could understand if you were. It’s not as if you wanted this in the first place...”

“Stiles,” Derek says. _I want you to have what you want. I want you to do what feels good. I want you to... I want you._ “If I didn’t want it, I wouldn’t offer.”

“Yeah, well, as long as you’re not doing it for my sake. You don’t owe me anything, you know.”

Derek sighs. He pulls Stiles closer, tracing his spine and nuzzling his neck, then puts his lips close to Stiles’ ear. “I want to fuck you. I want to fuck you on all fours and make you come on my cock.”

From the way Stiles tenses and gasps and his spent cock twitches against Derek’s hip, Derek’s got his message across. “Yes,” Stiles whispers. “Yes, please.”

Derek opens him up with his fingers, slowly, taking his time, and almost makes him come because he just can’t stop, too mesmerized by the expression on Stiles’ face. He’s riveted, watching how every time he twists his fingers just so, Stiles comes a little more undone. Until Stiles is a sweating, trembling mess, whispering curses and pleas, “yeah,” and “oh,” and “fuck, yes,” and it’s a heady drug, having the power to make him respond like this. Derek wants more of it, feels a little overwhelmed by how much he wants this. 

He mouths at Stiles’ vulnerable throat, worrying the skin between his teeth, leaving another mark, and Stiles shudders under him. “Derek... I’m ready, come on... you _can_ ... I’m going out of my mind here, don’t make me beg, _please_...” 

Derek pulls his fingers out with a curse. He turns Stiles over, who scrambles to get up on all fours, and Derek quickly coats himself with lube. He grips Stiles’ hip, nudging until his dick slides into the sweaty, sticky space between his thighs. Stiles moans. 

“Are you sure? I could come like this, between your legs,” Derek whispers, and it’s not a concession. He’s been hard and desperate for so long that feeling Stiles like this makes him want to thrust mindlessly, and it wouldn’t take long at all. 

“You are an asshole,” Stiles hisses. “Stop teasing me. I want you inside of me, _now_.”

Derek’s hands tighten on Stiles’ hips. “Okay.” He takes a deep, steadying breath. “Tell me if it gets too much.”

He uses one hand to line himself up, control the angle, pulling Stiles toward him with the other. Stiles breath hitches as the head pops in, and he makes a high, whiny noise. “Shit. You’re...”

“Do you want me to stop?” Derek whispers. “We can, anytime, I’ve told you...”

“Are you kidding me? No. Come one. Derek – _come on._ ”

The penetration isn’t anywhere near easy; even with the large amount of lube and care Derek took to prepare him, Stiles is vise-tight around him. Every inch feels like an impossible feat. Stiles exhales, bears down, and it’s easier after that, easy enough that Derek slides in the rest of the way. 

“Fuck,” Stiles breathes. “ _Fuck._ Feels...” 

“Tell me,” Derek says. “How does it feel?” 

“Full. So fucking full.” 

Stiles sounds dazed. Derek knows exactly how he feels, remembers, vividly, how his first time felt like, how it was too much of an intrusion at first. “You’re doing good. So good. Keep breathing, okay? You’re calling the shots here.”

“I don’t want to,” Stiles says, voice breaking. “I want you to fuck me. Hard.” 

Derek curls over him, sliding an arm around his waist. Revels in the feel of Stiles’ skin against his. “I will.”

He gives one first experimental thrust, then another, slow and careful, and as they go on, Stiles relaxes gradually, getting used to the pace. Derek feels it, how he’s getting more comfortable with it, to he point where he starts pushing back. 

That’s when Derek slows down, withholding the next thrust, waiting until Stiles gets confused, gets annoyed. “Derek –” 

Derek thrusts in hard. Stiles cries out and Derek stills immediately. 

“ _Yes,_ ” Stiles grits out, pushing back against him. “Like this, _Derek_ -” 

Derek lets out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, and starts fucking Stiles for real, drawing gasps and moans from him that rise in volume and tell him he’s getting it right. He circles his hips, thrusts from a different angle, and it rewarded by a chocked cry. Stiles tenses up and digs his fingers in the mattress. “More. Please. I need...”

Derek doesn’t need to be told twice. He drives into Stiles again and again. Sliding his hand down, he finds Stiles’ dick, hard and wet with precome, and it takes have a dozen pulls, timed with his thrusts, for Stiles to seize up and come with a high, keening sound. Derek holds him upright with an arm around his waist, pretty sure that Stiles can’t support himself right now. 

The tremors subside and Stiles sighs, leaning back against Derek, dead weight in his arms. Derek circles his hips slowly. He wants to fuck Stiles and come inside him. Wants to stay there and never leave. Instead he pulls out carefully, and Stiles flops down onto the mattress. Derek stretches out on top f him, blanketing him. His dick slides between Stiles’ thighs and Stiles hums approvingly and closes his legs. Everything is slippery with lube, and Derek thrusts, slowly, teasing himself. He licks a wet stripe along Stiles’ spine, kisses his nape, laps up cooling sweat between his shoulder blades. Stiles sighs, arching his back like a sleepy cat.

“I want you to turn around,” Derek says. He’s beyond shame now and beyond patience. “So that I can come on you.”

“On my face?” Stiles asks, turning his head to the side to look at Derek with faint curiosity. 

“No. On your dick.”

“Mhm.” Stiles turns around. His face is red and blotchy, his hair a mess, and he smiles at Derek with mischief in his eyes. “Do it.” He spreads his legs, exposing himself without hesitation. 

Derek takes himself in hand. Their eyes lock, and Stiles’ lips part as he watches Derek jerk off. 

“That’s hot. You’re so hot.” Stiles whispers and licks his lips, and that’s all it takes. Derek shoots his load all over Stiles’ dick, pubic hair and balls, watching, mesmerized, as one last spurt hits Stiles’ hole. _Fuck._

Stiles exhales noisily. “Holy shit. You’re one kinky bastard.” 

Derek can’t help it. He really can’t. He collects the droplets with his thumb, sweeps it over Stiles’ hole. Pushes it in with the fingertip. 

Stiles curses. “God, you’re killing me.”

Derek takes another deep breath, trying to clear his head. Sex always makes him stupid. This is worse, though, this is him... _No._

He wipes his hands on the sheet, then climbs up on the mattress and face-plants into the sheets next to Stiles, closing his eyes. 

Stiles’ heart beats, strong and steady, still a little to fast but slowing down now. Derek is tuned in to Stiles’ body now, listens for his breaths and realizes that he’s quickly falling asleep. Derek turns to his side. Stiles’ eyes are closed, his lips are swollen from all the kissing, and there’s at least one hickey high on his neck that will be almost impossible to hide. He smells of sweat and come and the bone-deep exhaustion that sets in after truly satisfying sex, and a little – although it’s not a smell so much as an indescribable trace – of magic.

He smells like he belongs.

“Stiles,” Derek says. “Stiles, come on, wake up for a little bit.”

Stiles opens one sleepy eye. “You’re disturbing the afterglow.”

“I know. But I really think you will thank me in the morning if you’re not glued to the sheets and smelling of jizz.” 

Stiles yawns. “Don’t wanna move.”

“Okay.”

“’time’s it?”

Derek gazes at the clock on his nightstand, hard to read from the distance. “Half past ten.”

“Oh. I should...”

“Take a shower,” Derek urges. “And I’ll order take-out. Pizza sound good?” Who doesn’t like pizza? His sits up and angles for his pants. 

“Wow. Who are you, and what have you done with Derek Hale?” Both of Stiles’ eyes are open now. 

“Very funny. How about you think about a better pun – under the shower?” Derek says pointedly, and Stiles grumbles, but gets up. Tries to, anyway. “Whoa,” he say weakly, with a wince, and sits back down. “My legs are... kind of wobbly. Also, for the record, _ow._ ” 

“Yeah,” Derek say. “That... happens.” He gets up and offers Stiles a hand, pulling him up, steadying him with an arm around his weight until Stiles manages to stand on his own and limps into bathroom. He forgets his clothes, and Derek doesn’t remind him of them; instead he digs out another pair of soft, worn sweatpants, a faded gray t-shirt and puts them on the doorstep – telling himself it’s not because he wants Stiles to smell like him. 

He orders pizza, returns the mattress, puts fresh sheets on the bed for the second time this day, and collects Stiles’ clothes to fold them and put them on top of the dresser. The shower runs for a long time, long enough that Derek starts to feel a little concerned and considers listening in. But finally the waters stops and a couple of minutes later, Stiles’ head peeks out from behind the door. 

“Derek? Could you...” 

Derek point at the clothes he put on the floor.

“Ah, cool.” Stakes takes them and disappears again. 

By the time he leaves the bathroom, Derek has started feeling itchy and pretty gross. He pulls a few dollar bills from his wallet and deposits them on the counter. “Delivery boy gets a twenty.”

Stiles just looks at him, and Derek can’t read him at all. He wishes he could ask what Stiles is thinking, but there is literally no question more awkward than that between to guys who just had what’s supposed to be a one-night-stand. He steps closer, touches Stiles’ shoulder. “You all right?”

Stiles exhales. “Yeah. Guess so.”

Derek brushes a soft kiss over his lips before he can think better of it. “Drink something. I’ll be right back.”

Derek takes what is possibly the quickest shower in history. As he gets out, Stiles is just tipping the delivery boy. They share two meat lover pizzas at the kitchen table that are gone within minutes, not a crust remaining. 

Once they’re done, Stiles pushes the pizza box aside and slowly gets up. “Thanks, that was good. So. I guess I’d better...”

Derek has been waiting for this moment, dreading it. He should let Stiles go. But his wolf smells pack, smells belonging, and Derek doesn’t like the thought of Stiles leaving after they haven been so close, after the intimacy they shared. The wolf would whine and mourn, be restless. And he doesn’t want Stiles to feel bad about this, go home alone, start to doubt, start to have regrets. 

“If that’s what you want,” Derek says. “You’re welcome to stay.” That sounds a bit stilted, like an empty phrase, so he adds, “I’d like it if you did.” 

Stiles doesn’t look as reassured as Derek hoped he would. “Sure,” he says, worrying his bottom lip. “If you...”

He blushes a Derek arches an eyebrow at him, but the rigid set of his shoulders softens a little. He glances down at the table. “If that’s really okay with you.”

“It is,” Derek says. “Come to bed with me.”

The blush deepens, and it shouldn’t be endearing how shy Stiles suddenly is. 

It’s awkward, at first. They don’t fit together, don’t know how to touch, and Stiles is fidgety, restlessly turning from one side to the other. Derek, who swore to himself he wouldn’t initiate anything, caves at last, pulls Stiles close and arranges them in a classical spooning position. 

Stiles starts laughing halfway through. 

“Not a word,” Derek warns him.

“Dude...”

Derek bites his earlobe, none-too-gently. “Don’t ‘dude’ me.”

Stiles hisses. “You dick.”

“You like it,” Derek murmurs. He’s content now, ready to fall asleep. For once, he doesn’t want to think about consequences, repercussions; he’s going to take what he can get, and if that’s one night with Stiles in his bed, he won’t complain.

“What’s it with you?” Stiles murmurs. “You’re like a teddy-bear or something. A total softie.”

“I’ll show you soft,” Derek says, shoving his groin against Stiles’ ass. It’s a half-hearted attempt at best, he’s not going to get it up anytime soon. “Tomorrow.”

“That a promise?”

“Shut up, Stiles.”

Stiles laughs. After a moment, he tentatively puts a hand on top of Derek’s where it is resting on his stomach. “G’night.”

~~~~~

The call comes in the middle of the night. 

With adrenaline coursing through his veins, Derek reaches for the phone. Next to him, Stiles sits up, blinking, then suddenly wide awake as Derek takes the call. 

“What,” Derek growls.

“Derek? It’s me, Isaac.”

“What’s wrong?” 

“Derek – something really weird just happened. I just came home and when I wanted to close the door, they were in my driveway. Kali and Ennis. They came after me – or tried, to – but then they just, I don’t know, ran against an invisible wall? They just couldn’t get in. I know they also checked the garage and the backdoor, and I think Kali tried the roof too – but they were repelled, as if something held them back.”

The magic. The sacrifice. It worked.

“What happened then?” Derek asks. 

“They left. Though Kali – she’s really scary, you know – came as close to my door as she could and said to me, ‘Tell Hale I am impressed, he’s making progress. But how long will he be able to keep this up?’ Then they disappeared. Derek, what’s going on? It’s like that one time with the mountain ash. But that makes no sense – I mean, I could enter my house, but they couldn’t.”

“It’s all right,” Derek says. “Listen, Isaac, it is hard to explain. We’ll have a pack meeting tomorrow after school. The barrier – it’s a warding spell. I wasn’t sure it would work...”

Stiles snorts.

There’s a pause at the other end of the line. 

“Where are you?” Isaac asks. 

Of course he heard that, probably even recognized Stiles’ voice. 

“I’m at home. Isaac, it’s,” Derek glances at the clock on his nightstand, “half past one. What were you doing outside this late?” 

The guilty silence is enough to make Derek curious. “What?”

“I fell asleep at Scott’s.”

He should have stayed there, should have know better than to go out alone at that time of the night. Ever since the alphas started causing trouble, they pack has been sticking to an unofficial curfew. A part of Derek wants to reprimand him, but the other part knows better. “The spell is a recent development – I am going to explain it tomorrow.” 

Another pause. Stiles is silent, fiddling with the blanket. Without thinking, Derek puts his hand over Stiles’ and squeezes once. Stiles looks up at him, and Derek holds his gaze. 

They did it. They protected the pack.

Stiles squeezes back. 

“Listen, Isaac. It’s late, and I’d rather explain it in person. Come here tomorrow?”

Isaac inhales. “Yeah. I guess. So this spell is not going to hurt me, or something? And I’ll be able to leave? I didn’t try.”

Stiles makes an aggravated noise and reaches for the phone, a move Derek completely fails to predict, let alone prevent.

“Isaac? This is Stiles. Listen, Derek and I cast a protection spell tonight. It’s supposed to ward all our homes so that no one with bad intentions can come in – at least no one supernatural. It won’t work if it’s just a burglar, or a serial killer, so if they hired a ninja, you’d be still be screwed.”

Isaac chokes on something. Derek can’t tell whether it’s laughter or terror. 

“Anyway. It’s some pretty badass magic. Good to know it really works, I mean, I knew in theory, but I couldn’t be sure. If we play our cards right, it should be enough to make them leave with their tails between their legs. Metaphorically speaking, or maybe literally, I don’t know.”

“You’re still at Derek’s?” Isaac asks. 

“Yeah. I was kinda tired after,” Stiles says it with a completely straight face, and Derek has to refrain from flat-out laughing. “So he let me crash at the loft.”

“I’m sorry for waking you.”

“Yeah, no biggie. I guess you were a little freaked out. Sorry about that. We didn’t want to get people’s hopes up, so we didn’t tell anyone.”

Derek tunes out, gets up to fetch a bottle of water, check the locks and cast a look outside to see if by chance someone – some alpha douchebag – is conspicuously lurking somewhere. But since everything seems quiet he returns to the bed where Stiles is sitting and looking up at him.

Derek passes him the water bottle. Stiles takes a deep gulp. “Thanks.”

Stiles screws the lid on, puts it down on the floor beside the bed. There’s a moment of silence. 

Then – 

“I can’t believe we really did that,” Stiles says. “I can’t believe it worked. Just imagine their faces – Kali, and that dumb fuck Ennis, when they tried to beat up Isaac and just couldn’t get to him.”

Derek raises an eyebrow, because, yes, that’s a nice thought. 

“And...” Stiles voice wavers. “And Isaac standing there looking like he didn’t know what hit him. I don’t even know what’s funnier.”

It isn’t _that_ funny, really, but Derek’s attempt to say so is thwarted by Stiles, who punches him playfully. “Oh, come on, it totally was!” 

Derek grabs his hands to hold him still. It turns into some kind of wrestling match, with Stiles trying to get free just to poke him again, until Derek tackles him onto the sheets and, tempted to tickle him until he cries uncle, decides to kiss him instead. 

That puts an end to their tussle as Stiles opens up for him, readily wrapping his arms around Derek and sighing into the kiss. 

They make out until exhaustion catches up with them. Derek falls asleep as they’re still tangled up in each other in his bed that already smells like the two of them.


	7. V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I've been disancing myself from Teen Wolf lately, and it wasn't easy for me to get back into a state of mind that allowed me to be at least slightly enthusiastic about this fic. Still, WIPs are promises, and I want to keep mine. Hope you like the ending.

“This is an interesting turn of events,” Deucalion says, adjusting his dark glasses. “I have to say, I did not truly expect you to be able to rise to the challenge. A pack of teenage wolves, an inexperienced alpha who was never raised for leadership...”

Kali is standing next to him, with Ennis at her right. The twins, two steps behind them, are loitering in the shadows of the trees, quiet and menacing. The meeting is taking place in front of Derek’s house, the remains of his family home, and the wound feels so raw that the walls might as well still be smoldering. 

Derek grits his teeth. It’s one thing to know how unsuited he is, and another to hear Deucalion spell it out like that. “As you have seen, our pack may be small, but we are powerful enough to protect our own.” 

Deucalion taps his finger to his mouth for second, considering. “You successfully protected your den; that much as true. But that is not the only condition that has to be met, as you know. The kanima is gone, but what about the young omega on your territory?”

“There is no omega,” Derek says, baring his teeth at Deucalion and Kali in a fierce smile. 

Scott takes a step forth from where he was standing between Stiles and Isaac. “I am with Derek,” he says. 

“Is that so?” Deucalion inquires.

Derek isn’t fooled for a second. Deucalion is the most dangerous of them all, more dangerous than Ennis with his brutish strength, more dangerous even than Kali with her razor-sharp smile and razor-sharp claws. 

“The last time I talked to you, little wolf, you were rather determined to state that that wasn’t the case. Have you learned your place after all?”

“I have,” Scott says, and Derek doesn’t fail to notice how he clenches his hands into fists to keep his claws from coming out. Deucalion won’t fail to notice either. His condescension is deliberate, and Derek hope Scott knows it too.

“My place is with the pack”, Scott says.

“Let’s make this absolutely clear,” Deucalions says. “Which pack are you talking about, and who is your alpha?”

Scott looks at Derek and nods as their eyes meet. “The Hale pack. Derek is my alpha.” No hesitation, no insincerity, and Derek exhales in relief. 

Deucalion tilts his head to the side. “How long will your change of mind last? I recall you stating that you did not need wolves in your pack, let alone an alpha.”

It’s obvious how much it costs Scott not to react to the taunt. The lines of his shoulders are tense, his jaw stubbornly set. “I won’t change my mind,” he says.

“Then let us hope that the lesson I taught you will stick,” Deucalion says, a final, calculated taunt. He waits, giving his words time to sink in. “Very well. That leaves the matter of the hunters in this town.”

With a swooshing sound, an arrow hits the tree right over Deucalion’s head. A few inches lower, and it would have gone right through his throat. “That’s my cue,” Allison says, stepping out of the house with her bow in hand, a second arrow already nocked. 

Kali hisses, shifting her weight, ready to attack, while Deucalion, seemingly unfazed, smiles at Allison. “Miss Argent. How nice of you to join us.”

“I’m with Derek too,” she says, feet set wide apart, unafraid and self-confident. 

“Correct me if I am wrong, but I do not believe that a girl as young as you is an adequate representative of her whole family,” Deucalion says. “The Argent lineage may be matriarchal, but age factors in. Convincing me that the old treaty is still in effect requires more than a trick shot by a teenage hunter, I am afraid.”

“The old treaty was broken when my aunt burned this house down,” Allison says. “But it has been renewed. My father and the alpha came to an agreement, and I am here as a sign that the Argents intend to keep their word. I am also a part of the pack by association. My arrow could easily have killed you; I don’t miss my target often.”

Kali snorts with disgust. Ennis flexes his muscles, his grin an ugly sing of contempt. Deucalion takes off his glasses, a hint of alpha red showing, just a flare, but still intense, burning brighter than those of any alpha Derek has ever seen. “A bold claim. Don’t be mistaken, Miss Argent, you may be a hunter, but I am not just any wolf.” 

Behind his casual, almost pleasant words lies the promise of power, and all the wolves feel it. Someone – Isaac – whines low in his throat. Scott takes a step toward Allison, positioning himself between her and the alphas. Even Allison wavers for a second or two, her grip on the bow not as steady as it was. Her face hardens. She brings the bow up again immediately, but a hint of insecurity shows underneath her steely resolve, and the wolves can sense it. They’re predators, they always sense weakness.

Peter clears his throat, making everyone on their side flinch a little. “That is enough, I think,” he says, talking to Deucalion. “Your conditions have been met, and unless you intend to start a war, there is no need for this continued hostility.”

“You,” Kali hisses.

“Me,” Peter says, pleasantly. “No really, is there a reason to draw this out?”

Derek uses the short moment where Deucalion’s attention isn’t focused on him to turn his head toward Allison. “Take your arrow down,” he says softly. “They are not going to hurt you.”

“They tried to kill me,” she objects, eyes dark with anger, her arrow still aimed at Deucalion. “That gives me any right...” 

“We were on trial,” Derek says. “Now that we’ve met their challenge, they won’t touch you.”

“Unless, of course, you want to follow in your grandfather’s footsteps,” Deucalion says. “Or your aunt’s.” 

Allison flinches, and so does Derek. After a second, Allison lowers her bow. 

“Good girl,” Peter mutters, earning himself an icy glare from both her and Kali. “I take it that we’re done here?”

This time, there’s more than a flare of red in Deucalion's eyes, and it’s directed at Peter and Peter alone.

Peter takes a step back. “I’ll be taking my leave, then.”

“Stay,” Deucalion says with a hint of teeth, though his voice is still pleasantly casual. “There is one last question that needs to be answered.”

“Which one?” Derek asks, as if he didn’t know.

“You know the law. The pack is united and strong, the territory is safe, but what about the pack’s alpha? You have proven yourself capable of forming your pack, but are you capable of _protecting_ them?”

“He is,” Stiles says, from right behind Derek. His presence, so close that Derek can hear him breathe, is both a reassurance and a distraction. “He’s our alpha.”

“You must be Mr Stilinski. The future emissary, and the one responsible for this delightful warding spell, I take it?” Amusement is glittering in Deucalion’s eyes. “I know a bit about magic, and one day I’d love to hear exactly how you have performed this particular miracle. Magic comes at a price. What was yours?”

“That’s of no concern to you,” Derek says before Stiles can open his mouth. “Why would we tell you? Take it for what it is.”

Stiles’ heartbeat accelerates, and he shifts his weight, clearly burning to reply with all his usual snark and then some, and Derek tries to project calm on him through the pack bond, which he is pretty sure is destined to fail. 

“You’ve had to have a sacrifice,” Kali says. “That’s how it works. What did you do?” 

“Secrets of the trade,” Stiles says before Derek can prevent it. “Just because you _want_ to know doesn’t mean you _get_ to know.” 

Kali narrows her eyes. Derek doesn’t like the cruel tilt of her mouth. She keeps quiet, though, while Deucalion coughs, bringing their attention back to him. “As I said. The alpha has yet to prove himself. Are you ready to demonstrate your strength in combat, Derek?”

“What? No!” Stiles protests.

“Yes,” Derek says. “As long as you promise to leave my pack alone.”

Deucalion nods. “According to our traditions.”

“Who is going to challenge me?” Derek asks.

Kali takes a step forward. “I do.” 

“No!” Stiles says again. “We did everything you wanted! What are you trying to prove?” 

“Stiles,” Derek says quietly. He can’t do this if he has to hear the fear in Stiles’ voice. 

Deucalion, eyebrows raised, takes a long, measuring look at Stiles. “How fierce you are in your defense of him. How loyal. I admire courage when I see it. You, Miss Argent – even Miss Martin over there – you are the true assets of this pack. I respect that greatly. But you are no wolves. This is amongst our kind; it isn’t your fight.” 

He takes off his glasses, revealing his human eyes as he addresses the whole pack. “None of you were born and raised as wolves, so I am not going to hold it against you,” he continues, almost gently. “Your loyalty is admirable, but you need to stand down. In the tradition of alphas, Derek has to prove his loyalty, his strength, his endurance. It’s an accustomed way for us to determine whether we can safely leave Beacon Hills to him and his pack.”

“No,” Scott says to Derek’s surprise. “This is our pack, and we make our own rules. We’re all protecting each other.” 

“You are young,” Deucalion says. “You are not aware of the laws that have helped us maintain peace and balance for hundreds of years. This is the way of the wolves.”

“Then the way of the wolves is not our way,” Scott says. “What is this meant to prove? That Kali is a better fighter?” 

Kali bares her teeth. “If he cannot protect his pack, he does not deserve to be a leader.”

“We’re all protecting each other,” Scott repeats. “Isn’t that the point of being pack?”

Stiles takes a step until he, too, is standing beside Derek, with Scott on his other side. He rolls his eyes at Kali. “Oh, please. Admit it, this was never about protection of the pack, not for you. You just want to take him down because you despise him, and because you want _him_ –” he points at Ennis, “to have his own territory. But if you believe for a second that the pack is just going to take it, accept one of you bullies as the alpha – you couldn’t be more wrong. See how far you get with the entirety of the Beacon Hills pack against you...” 

Boyd comes up at Derek’s right and lays a hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t have to; the gesture in itself speaks volumes. 

“We made the treaty with Derek,” Allison says, holding her position, vaguely behind Scott. “Not with you. We’re willing to trust _him_ – we won’t trust any of you.”

“You have no idea what you are talking about,” Kali says. “You’re just children.”

“With all due respect,” Stiles says. “Which isn’t much, by the way, not after all the crap you pulled on us. We’re living in the twenty-first century. The ‘savage beast’ mentality is getting old. These days, we don’t bow down to our leaders because they’re wading in the blood of their enemies. We _choose_ to follow them.” 

Erica steps forward, joining them on the front line, tossing back her lion’s mane of blonde hair. “When you kept us in your vault, you said that it wasn’t your intention to cause harm. But if you kill Derek, you’ll have to kill us too. All of us. You’ll have really bad publicity on your hands. The Argents will come for you. Human police too. Stiles’ dad is the sheriff.”

“We dealt with the kanima,” Scott points out. “We dealt with Peter when he was the rogue alpha. Dr. Deaton helped us, he wouldn’t do that if he didn’t think we could protect the town.” 

Deucalion smiles thinly. “All these are valid points. What do you think, Derek? Is your pack right, are you a good alpha?”

“I’m trying,” Derek says, and it comes out less confident than he’d like. But it’s nothing but the truth. “Beacon Hills is my home. My mother was the alpha, and her mother and her grandmother and her great-grandmother before her. I will not give up on my home, or on my pack. Never. I’d die to protect them. And if I’m not strong enough, it doesn’t matter, because I know that they have my back.” 

He knows it, now, in a way that he didn’t before. Before he witnessed Scott and Stiles and even Allison putting their lives on line for him. “They are right, we’re a different kind of pack. Non-traditional. We have to be, to make this work. But we passed your test. My mother said that you were a just man; she respected you.”

Deucalion’s smile vanishes, leaving his face blank. “Talia Hale was one of the most brilliant leaders amongst our kind for many years. And I owe it to her to make sure that her son’s pack does not dishonor the name of the Hales. On the other hand, there is a hardly a worse thing I could do to her memory than to kill her son, the last of her line. And you _have_ proven yourself, that much is true.”

His words are followed by a long moment of silence. 

“Kali?” Deucalion finally asks, looking at her. Their silent exchange, in which neither Ennis nor the twins are included, lasts a few seconds, and in the end, Kali huffs out an impatient breath and inclines her head in a half-nod. “Very well,” she says. “But you must know that this will create a precedence. The consequences of rogue packs like this being allowed to do as they wish... be it on your head.” 

“We will cross these bridges when we come to them,” Deucalion says. “But werewolves, as humankind, need to change as the world around them changes. There has to be room to bring this change forth from within.”

Kali exchanges a glance with Ennis, who grimaces, then nods. She lifts her head in a move that makes her look both regal and powerful. “I withdraw the challenge for the time being,” she says to Derek. “For what good it may cause.”

It’s not the same as having won a victory, but it’s as much of a concession as they will get from the alpha pack. “I accept,” Derek says, and releases his breath as Kai nods one last time and turns around to go, to _leave_ , along with Deucalion and the others. 

Derek feels lightheaded, all of a sudden, and his knees might buckle if it weren’t for the pack’s physical and mental support, Boyd’s hand on his shoulder, Stiles’s fingers skimming his arm in the briefest of touches, the sense of proud accomplishment and relief through the pack bond that is mirroring his own. They all stay alert and cautious, even as the alphas vanish from sight. The silence lasts until they can be sure alphas are out of hearing range. 

“Pleasant as this was,” Peter says at last, “let us pray not repeat the experience by giving them reason to come back.” With that, he turns to go, sauntering off, seemingly without a care in this world. 

“Anybody else thinking we should lock him in a box of mountain ash, tie a nice ribbon around it, and send him to Kali as a nice farewell gift?” Stiles says.

“Not until he gives us an actual reason,” Derek says, not thinking about what he is going to do when – and it’s when, not if – Peter does. 

He takes a deep breath, too exhausted to feel the elation that should come from knowing his pack is safe, knowing that the alphas are finally gone, and there will be no more deaths, no more losses. Looking around, he meets their eyes, one after the other. Allison, who nods at him in acknowledgment, still seems a little wary. “Great shot,” Derek offers, "thanks.” He pauses, then adds, quietly, “That goes for all of you. Thank you.” It’s inadequate, because there’s really no way to express what he is feeling right now, the overwhelming sense of gratitude and relief, but as he sees the others smiling at him and at each other, he thinks that maybe they know. 

“Sure thing,” Boyd says, and Erica nods, putting her head on Boyd’s shoulder with a smile. The pack gathers around Derek, forming a circle. Stiles, next to him, doesn’t meet his eye but casts secret glances at him whenever he thinks Derek is too distracted to notice. It’s so woefully obvious, the way he’s avoiding Derek and yet leaning toward him, that Derek wonders how the others can fail to see it. Since he’s not any better at hiding it, he can’t even blame Stiles. It’s just such a train wreck in the making. 

“They’re gone, finally,” Stiles says. “I know Beacon Hills is like supernatural cat mint – dog bone, whatever – but don’t they have like, jobs or something? Places to be that are not here?”

“I think this _was_ their job,” Scott points out, and Stiles mutters a few uncomplimentary words under his breath. It makes the other grin as the tension slowly abates. 

“I can’t believe that after all of that, they were still going to challenge you,” Scott says to Derek. 

Derek shrugs. He’ll never be able to explain it in a way that makes sense to any of them. _Bitten, not born,_ he reminds himself, and thinks it might not be a bad thing at all.

“Stilinski,” Boyd says. “What were they talking about when they mentioned a sacrifice?”

Silence falls. Scott frowns and looks at Stiles in confusion. The others seem more curious than suspicious, at least, and Stiles bites his lips. “I’d rather not say.”

It’s odd for him to be so closed-off, and if Derek weren’t in on the secret, he’d very likely try to make Stiles tell. As it is, he shakes his head and tries not to sound too brusque. “Leave it alone.”

There’s a silent exchange between Stiles and Scott - a raised eyebrow, a shrug, a head shake, the promise of a _later_ in the unhappy twist of Scott’s mouth - before Stiles sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Can you all please believe me when I say, it’s nothing bad? But it's kind of personal, and I’d really prefer it if you couldn’t, you know, pester me or Derek, because Derek helped me with the spell, so yeah, he knows. But can we maybe just be glad it worked?”

Derek bites his tongue. He’d love to say something, anything to help Stiles, but he’s afraid it will look suspicious if he makes a huge deal out of it. He could try to put a stop to the discussion by means of alpha authority, only that after today, that would look ridiculous. Not that there’s much of a chance that it would work anyway, now that an unsolved mystery has triggered the collective curiosity of a bunch of nosy teenagers. 

Isaac shrugs. “After your spell saved my life and got the alphas to leave, the least we can do in return is to get off your back.” 

Isaac isn’t usually his favorite, but this once Derek feels profoundly grateful toward him as the others nod and agree, even Scott, even Erica, and the topic is dropped in favor of discussing where they should hold their victory celebrations. 

~~~~~

The message comes a week later. _Can we talk?_

There’s a dozen possible replies to that, different stages of outright obnoxiousness or feigned ignorance. Derek stares at the display for a few minutes, thumb hovering over the surface. It’s not a good idea. He _knows_ it isn’t. But he hasn’t stopped thinking about Stiles for the past week, hasn’t stopped remembering what he looked like, waking up in Derek’s bed the morning after the ritual, his long lashes blinking over sunlit eyes, frowning at Derek for a second before his mouth curled in a slow smile. Hasn’t stopped thinking about how he sprawled on his back like a cat, making Derek want to pin him down and and keep him there. 

It’s a tremendously _bad_ idea, for a variety of reasons that boil down to _he’s sixteen_ in Derek’s mind. _Sure_ , he sends back. _If you want to._ It’s not at all what he really wants to say, but it’s all he _can_ say without feeling completely irresponsible. 

He spends the afternoon trying to vacuum the glitter out of the floor board gaps and the confetti from underneath the kitchen counter and silently vows never to let Erica bring party decoration to the loft ever again. When Stiles knocks on his door at quarter past six, Derek isn’t anywhere near done. 

“Wow,” Stiles says, stepping into the loft. “Are you – are you cleaning for me, _again_? Seriously?” 

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek says, a mere reflex, and Stiles turns around with a smirk. 

“So Scott told me you wolves were running in he preserve last night. Re-claiming territory, he said. Does that mean you were like, marking trees, startling deer, scaring off coyotes?” 

Derek rolls his eyes. “It was just about running.”

“I wasn’t invited,” Stiles says with an exaggerated pout, but Derek can sense that it’s truly bothering him. 

“You’re pack, but you’re not a wolf. You wouldn’t have been able to keep up. Besides... you would only have made fun of us,” Derek says, pauses for effect and raises an eyebrow, “as you did just now.”

“Fair enough,” Stiles says with a frown. “Though I thought, next time, we could... I don’t know, have a movie night after? Or a barbecue?”

“Maybe.” Derek considers it for a second. “Yeah, that might work. Not on a school night, though.”

“Party pooper,” Stiles mutters, but he’s grinning again, and Derek just shakes his head in fond exasperation. They’re standing a few feet apart, and Derek watches the grin fall from Stiles’ face barely a second later. “I was afraid that... maybe you didn’t want me around.”

“You thought wrong,” Derek immediately says. “But I didn’t want to give the others an occasion to bother you. Because of the ritual.”

“ _Oh,_ ” Stiles breathes. 

“Did they? Bother you, I mean?”

“No,” Stiles says and shakes his head. “Scott tried to talk to me about it the other day, but that’s different, I’ve never kept secrets from him before. I expected him to ask, I would have been surprised if he hadn’t. It’s okay, though. I said I _would_ tell him, just not right now, and he said it was fine.”

“You don’t have to keep it secret if you don’t want to. You can tell him, and the others, that’s your decision.”

“I’d rather not, not yet, at least. But you don’t have to keep them away from me.”

Derek nods. “I’m sorry, it wasn’t my intention to... to make you feel left out.”

“Okay,” Stiles says. “That’s good.” He looks to the side and takes a deep breath. “Look. I wondered. I wanted to ask...”

Derek swallows with a dry mouth even before Stiles says the words. 

“Would you go out on a date with me?”

“A date?” Derek says, because while he expected something like this, he wasn’t _prepared_ for it, for the way the question would sound coming from Stiles. He’s been asked on a date before, but not like this, knowing it’s a serious thing, not by someone who actually _knew_ him, by someone Derek cares about. 

“Yes, a date, as in, going to grab something to eat, then go to the movies – stuff.”

“ _Stuff,_ ” Derek says, buying time. 

Stiles bites his lips. “You know what, forget it. This was a bad idea. I don’t know what I thought, truth be told... I guess you’ve realized by know that I’m – I’m in love with you. I’m pretty bad at hiding it, so please don’t tell me you didn’t already know.” 

“I did,” Derek says softly and watches the blush creep on Stiles’ face as he fiddles with his car keys. 

“Yeah. Look, I’m sorry, I really am, because you never signed up for this, and it’s not your fault that I went and developed a stupid crush on you after all.” 

Derek doesn’t move, holding himself carefully still because he doesn’t know what he’s going to do if he moves, but it’s probably something monumentally stupid.

Stiles puts his hands in his pockets. “Right. So, that happened, and I get that you don’t – you don’t reciprocate, obviously, and it’s fine. It’s _fine_. But that’s why I gathered I should ask, because I’m not really good at pretending, and I figured you’d let me down gently or something and then I could get over it, move on, so if you – if you could _say_ something, anything, before this gets any more humiliating, now would be a great time.” 

The flippant words, the rambling, all of it does very little to cover up the misery that is written all over Stiles’ face, the fact that he’s visibly steeling himself as he’s waiting for Derek’s reaction. 

“I thought you were in love with Lydia,” Derek says. He’s stalling and he shouldn’t be. 

“Yeah, funny, that, me too,” Stiles says. “But as it turns out, I’m over her, have been for a while. I just didn’t want to admit to myself that I was a lot more into guys than I’d thought. And now it’s not so much _guys_ , plural, as one guy in particular.”

“Me,” Derek says. 

Stiles stares him straight in the eye. “I really should know better, is the thing. You only had sex with with me to save the pack, and I told you you wouldn’t have to worry about consequences – and you don’t have to, I mean, it’s my own fault. I’m not – not going to hold it against you if you tell me to fuck off.” His voice breaks on the last few words. He draws a deep breath, averting his eyes, and continues. “I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t going to. But then there’s you, with your insanely beautiful eyes and your stupid smile – and I can’t stop thinking about you and what we did, but it’s not just that, it’s – you’re funny, when you want to be, and smart, and I really fucking hate what the Argents did to you and your family. I liked the way you looked at me, when we, when we were having sex, and the way you kissed me, and – this makes me sound superficial, like I’m only into you because you’re gorgeous and hot – which you are – but it’s really not just about that.”

“Stiles,” Derek says, and his voice comes out funny. “Stiles...“ what is he meant to do with this, how is he meant to send Stiles away, tell him _no_? 

“You don’t have to say anything,” Stiles says, and it’s getting worse, just standing there and watching how he resigns himself to rejection, how he stares at the floor as his hands clench into fists in his pockets. “I just thought you should know. I know you don’t like me back, not that way, at least, but...”

“I do.” 

Stiles opens his mouth, ready to deflect, to deny, to let loose another stream of words, then does a double-take at Derek, and nothing comes out. He swallows. “What?”

“I do like you,” Derek says. “Though I really shouldn’t. I shouldn’t – but, yeah, I do.”

“ _You do_ ,” Stiles repeats, as if he doesn’t want to believe it, or maybe he can’t, as a means of self-preservation. “As... as _friends._ As a pack member.”

“No,” Derek says. “Not just like that.” He bites his lips. Images come to his head, unbidden, and there’s nothing for it now, he has to speak up. “Do you – do you have any idea how hard it was to let you go that morning? I wanted to keep you here, in my bed. I wanted to make you breakfast, _real_ breakfast, pancakes and bacon and eggs and coffee – so you wouldn’t leave like it was nothing. So you’d want to stay, so you’d _come back._ It wasn’t – it wasn’t nothing, Stiles. I don’t... I don’t handle casual well, at all. Never have. It’s okay when it’s just sex, when I don’t take someone home, because when I do … it means more.”

Stiles’ eyes are wide, and he’s staring at him like Derek turned into a unicorn before his eyes. “You – you really mean that?”

“I wouldn’t have said anything,” Derek says. “You’re sixteen, you shouldn’t be hung up on someone like me.” 

“But that’s...”

“It’s not a good idea,” Derek says.

Stiles looks at him and nods. “Noted.”

“You’ll regret it,” Derek says. “Your father – if he finds out – the pack...” 

“That’s not a _no,_ ” Stiles points out. 

“It isn’t.”

“Does that mean that we – that you’re going to go out with me?” Stiles asks, a barely concealed smile lighting up his face.

“If you want to,” Derek says. 

Stiles beams at him for a second, bouncing on his feet like a toddler on Christmas eve in sudden excitement. Then he stills, and his expression turns into a slight frown. “Wait. What – what do _you_ want? I mean, this isn’t only about me, right?”

“Stiles,” Derek says, rolling his eyes, because there’s so much that he can’t say, _you’re going to regret it, I’m not worth it, I’m not what you want._ He doesn’t say any of it. What he does is give in to the need to be closer, so much closer. 

Two steps bring him into Stiles’ personal space, and Stiles exhales licks his lips and laughs giddily. “I thought – I thought you were going to turn me down, I can’t believe it, you like me, you really _like_ me... I’m talking too much, you should make me shut up right now, Derek come on, please –“ 

Derek growls, puts his hands on his head to tilt it to the side and kiss the words right out of Stiles’ gasping mouth. Stiles opens for him with a sweet, sweet moan, swaying into him, his hands coming out of his pocket to pull Derek even closer.

By the time Derek breaks the kiss, he has Stiles against the door frame, panting and flushed pink and hard in his pants. 

“Don’t stop,” Stiles says, fingernails digging into Derek’s shoulder underneath his shirt. 

“We’re going to talk,” Derek rasps. 

Stiles circles his hips, pushing up against him. 

“Okay, maybe... maybe not right now.”

Stiles nods emphatically. “Sex now. Talk later.” His lips curve into a smile under Derek’s. “Or I could write you another outline, if you want.” Stiles laughs at Derek’s pained groan and, with an unexpected, twisting move, escapes Derek’s hold. “Race you to the bed?”


	8. Epilogue

It’s days until they finally get around to talking about it without getting distracted. 

~~~~~

It’s weeks until Derek stops feeling secretly guilty, Stiles stops feeling not-so-secretly smug, and the pack stops rolling their eyes at them and claiming they’re sickeningly cute. Or gross, depending on who gets an eyeful of PDA that _really_ shouldn’t occur during their pack meetings yet unsurprisingly does. 

~~~~~

It’s months until they tell Stiles’ dad and it turns out that the sheriff is more concerned that Derek might be indulging Stiles and succumb to his persuasive powers too easily – or, as Stiles emphasizes, to his mad seduction skills – than that Derek might be exploiting him. During the ensuing discussion, words like _juvenile offender_ and _terrible smartass_ are being uttered, and they are decidedly not aimed at _Derek_. 

~~~~~

It’s years until Derek stops being afraid that it’s all going to fall apart, that the people he loves will get hurt or leave him, that he’ll be alone again; no matter how often Stiles tells him that it’s not going to happen, that whether the two of them last as a couple or not, they’ll still always be pack, they’ll still be family; no matter how often he runs with his pack under the full moon or babysits Tori, the newest member of the Argent clan, and the first wolf born to their pack.

~~~~~

It’s ten years after they started dating that they move into a newly built family house on Hale property, replacing the burned-out shell with a bright modern three-bedroom home. While they’re packing stuff and carrying around boxes of accumulated _stuff_ \- “they’re called _belongings_ , Stiles, they’re not useless trinkets” – Stiles finds a few old pages in a hidden corner of Derek’s closet, crinkled, dog-eared printouts, fading notes added with a blue fineliner pen. 

The reenacted anniversary celebration is memorable in its own right, though Derek could do without Stiles’ repeated, gleeful, “You kept it! I can’t believe you actually _kept_ it!” 

“Shut up,” Derek mutters, rolling them around and pinning Stiles beneath him. “Or I’ll frame it and put it on the living room wall.”

“You wouldn’t,” Stiles says, breathless with laughter, but he stops teasing Derek anyway as they find better things to do, touching and kissing and falling in love all over again.


End file.
